


Sweeter than Honey

by somnivagrantTraviatus



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underswap, Aro-spec characters, Asexual Character, No Incest, Other, Post-Pacifist Route, Queerplatonic Relationships, Reader Is Not Chara, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader is Nonbinary, Reader is a smol, Soft Chara, There will not be any smut, branch polyamory, consensual polyamory, no love triangles, reader has a lot of things honestly, reader has anxiety, reader is autism-spectrum, reader's designation at birth is undefined, slow burn?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 35,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6613108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnivagrantTraviatus/pseuds/somnivagrantTraviatus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two skeletons have just moved into the apartment next door. You're determined to welcome them, but your anxiety makes it difficult to start the conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's a startling lack of Swap!Paps x Reader on here.
> 
> I've got lots of ideas for this, but I'll leave things here for now. I might add some more chapters later, though!
> 
> (Also, does anyone know how to change fonts without making all the dialogue into its own paragraph? I want to have Sans and Pap use their fonts, but I also don't want all my dialogue floating by itself.)

This apartment building has really ugly carpeting, you muse, shifting anxiously from foot to foot as you studiously avoid looking at the door in front of you. It's this gross, musty greenish color - the carpeting, you mean, not the door - and looks like it hasn't been updated in the last thirty years. You wouldn't be at all surprised if that were the case, actually. After all, this is the apartment complex with the cheapest rent in the whole city.

That makes it the natural choice for both young college grads, such as yourself, and, more recently, monsters. Like the two skeletons who just moved in next door, who are the reason you're standing in the middle of the hallway with a basket in one hand, fist poised to knock but never quite getting that far.

It's not that you're scared of them! The brothers’ bantering as they moved in had ensured that. You could never be scared of people who joked around that easily with each other, no matter what they looked like. You've just never been good at talking to new people, is all, and you're worried sick over all the ways your idea to welcome the brothers to the building could go wrong.

It's hard enough to talk to people your own species, let alone a totally different one. Besides, monsters are so cool. They've got awesome magic and stuff, and you're just, well, you. Who'd ever want to hang out with someone like that? You'd only be intruding. With a sigh, you lower your fist and take a step back, resigning yourself to leaving your welcome quest incomplete.

Except that backwards step takes you right into someone else.

With a small squeak, you hop out of the contact. “S-sorry!” you stammer. “I'm not a stalker or casing the joint to blow it up later or anything like that, I promise.”

"that’s an awfully specific denial there, sweetheart,” the other’s voice drawls lazily, and you flush. Oh, god, it's the tall skeleton. The one with the orange pullover and the lollipop stick poking out of the corner of his teeth, who looks so huggable. He chuckles. “i’m just messin’ with ya. but, uh, do me a favor and tell me. what are ya doing outside me and my bro’s apartment?”

You push the gift basket at him. He takes it, looking bemused, and you rush to explain. “It's, uh, a welcome present. Because you're new here - in the apartment, I mean! The surface too, I guess, if that's really true - oh my gosh, I'm _so_ sorry about that, by the way, we didn't know you guys were down there, I swear - But, um, I just wanted to let you and your brother know you were welcome here, I guess? Because I know a lot of humans are real jerks about anyone different, and I wanted to make sure you knew I wasn't going to be like that, at least not on purpose. But, oh, that was probably really presumptuous of me -”

He gently presses a finger into your nose, cutting off your babbling with impressive ease. “correct me if i’m wrong, but humans need to breathe, right?”

Oh. Yeah, that’s definitely a thing you need to do. You take a couple of wobbly deep breaths as the skeleton looks on, then smile bashfully at him. “Sorry about that.”

“don't worry about it,” he says, waving off your apology with an easy grin. “what’s in the basket?”

“Oh! Uh, it's just some snickerdoodles I made,” you answer, twiddling your fingers together. “I wasn't sure if you'd be able to eat them, so if you can't, feel free to give them back and I'll think of something else. It'd be no trouble. I just wanted to give something personal, you know? But I'm not the best cook, so sorry in advance if you do decide to keep them.”

He snorts in a polite rejection, pulling the basket closer to himself. “yeah, we can eat. and i’m sure they're fine. they’ve gotta be better than my bro’s cooking, at least.”

That makes you laugh a little, as you're sure it was meant to. Deciding all at once that you're willing to risk the possible rejection, you hold out a hand and introduce yourself.

The tall skeleton looks at you intensely for a moment, eye sockets narrowing (somehow??) as he searches for something in your gaze. Evidently he finds it, because he gives a decisive nod and shakes your hand. His grip is weirdly hard, and warmer than you'd expect a skeleton’s to be, though it's still cooler than a human’s. It's also concealing something plasticky and round. “papyrus,” he says, as a light shock travels up your arm.

You yelp a little and jump backwards, frantically shaking out your hand. Still, there's a disbelieving smile on your face, matching the smugly satisfied smirk on Papyrus’s. “Oh my god, you have a joy buzzer?” you laugh. “Nobody uses those anymore!”

He shrugs. “most of our stuff’s pretty out of fashion,” he admits, “considerin’ we pretty much lived off what humans threw away.” When he sees your expression, he gives you a tired grin. “hey, wasn't your fault. like you said, you didn't even know we were down there, right? ‘sides, it's not like it was too bad.” He waggles the joy buzzer at you, giving an impromptu jazz hand and making you snicker. “even the stuff you guys tossed was still pretty cool.”

“Still,” you mutter, and he shrugs again.

Something rattles on the other side of the door, and Papyrus’s gaze flicks up over your head and back down at you. “seems like my bro thinks i’m bein’ rude by keeping you out here in the hallway.” 

“Y-your brother?” Your eyes dart over to the door, but you can't see anything out of the ordinary.

“yep, he's been watching us the whole time,” Papyrus confirms, answering your unasked question by pointing to the little fisheye window in the middle of the door. He chuckles at your expression, explaining, “sans is pretty observant. he could probably have the whole world eating out of his hands, if he wanted, but he'd rather stick around and look after this bag of bones.” There’s a soft smile on his face as he digs in the pocket of his pullover, finally coming up with a single, loose key with an “aha!” and pushing it into the lock. It's the most loving smile you've ever seen.

He unlocks the door and pushes it open, waving a hand at the apartment inside as he gives you a more tired, practiced grin. “welcome to scenic our apartment. feel free to make yourself at home, sweetheart. i’m gonna go put your gift down, so don't freak out if sans appears outta nowhere behind you.”

What? “Uh, is that a typical thing Sans does?” you ask, sneaking a glance behind you to make sure no skeletons have managed to somehow appear there.

“pretty much all the time,” Papyrus calls back, a grinning smirk clearly audible in his voice. “i think he gets a kick outta making people jump.”

“PAPPY, YOU KNOW I WOULDN'T DO SOMETHING THAT RUDE TO OUR GUEST!” Sans complains from down the hall. Then there's a _pop!_ and the smaller skeleton appears out of thin air in front of you. You jump, but manage to not flinch backwards this time, and Sans beams at you. “I’LL JUST APPEAR IN FRONT OF THEM INSTEAD, MWEH HEH HEH! HELLO, HUMAN! I AM THE FANTASTIC SANS.” He poses dramatically, cape fluttering behind him despite the lack of wind, and continues, “I WELCOME YOU TO OUR HUMBLE ABODE!”

Eyes still wide from the sudden display of magic, you manage to return Sans’s smile and introduce yourself as his new next-door neighbor. His eyes fill with stars. Literally. There are literally little white star shapes floating in the blue of his wide irises. “THAT’S AMAZING!” he gushes, grabbing your hand and pumping it up and down enthusiastically. “IT IS SO NICE TO MEET YOU, NEW-NEXT-DOOR-NEIGHBOR-HUMAN! I AM SURE WE WILL SOON BE THE VERY BEST OF FRIENDS.”

“Y-yeah, me too,” you manage to get out around the sudden lump in your throat.

It's at that moment that Papyrus walks back in, carrying three plates and two glasses of milk, so you don't notice the evaluative look Sans is giving you. “didn't know what you were gonna have, sweetheart, but i can double back. what's it gonna be?”

“Oh! You didn't have to,” you reply, as Sans tugs you onto the lumpy couch and passes you one of the plates from Papyrus’s arms. Both skeletons give you a look at that, and you smile, settling back easily. “Well, alright. Just water’s fine, then.”

Papyrus nods and sets down the glasses and other plates. Just before he's about to turn around, though, Sans jumps up and pushes his brother over to you. “THE FANTASTIC SANS WILL HANDLE IT! BROTHER, YOU SHOULD SIT.”

“heh, alright. ‘snot like i mind having less work,” Papyrus shrugs, and Sans nods.

“NORMALLY, I AM AGAINST ENCOURAGING SUCH LAZY HABITS,” the stouter skeleton confides to you, “BUT THIS ONCE WOULDN'T HURT.” He gives you a wink, then disappears into the kitchen area - not literally, this time, but by walking. Your disappointment must show on your face, because Papyrus chuckles at you.

“eager to see some magic, are you?” He winks at you, and you redden through your sheepish smile. It's cute how similar he and his brother are, despite their more obvious differences.

You inspect the plate while you try to formulate an answer to his (probably rhetorical) question. It's a porcelain blue, with pale cracks running through the glaze, and looks new - “I would've thought you guys would be using bone china,” you say before you can catch yourself. Oh god, was that rude?

But, after a shocked beat of silence, Papyrus snorts, covering his face with a bony palm. In the doorway, Sans giggles. The stars are back in his eyes, you notice, as he grabs a coaster and sets it and your water down in front of you. “AS EXCELLENT A JOKE AS THAT WAS, HUMAN, I AM EAGER TO TRY THESE ‘SNICKERDOODLES’ YOU HAVE BROUGHT!” He plops himself down on your other side and holds one to the light, squinting at it from all sides. “IN ALL MY CULINARY MASTERY, I HAVE NEVER ENCOUNTERED ANYTHING LIKE THIS,” he remarks.

“It's a kind of cookie,” you explain, having been through this song and dance before. Lots of people don't know what snickerdoodles are, though you've always thought they were a fairly common cookie variety. “They're made with cinnamon and sugar, and if you get them right out of the oven, they're almost liquid, they're so soft. At least, they are when I make them.” You pick up one of the two cookies on your plate, frowning at it self-consciously. They've been cooling off for a while now, and your last few batches hadn't been too great. Hopefully this one came out better - you really don't want to disappoint the skeleton brothers after talking up your favorite cookie so much.

Sans pokes the cookie on his plate. His finger doesn't leave an indentation like it would have if the batch was still piping hot, but as you take a bite of your own cookie, your teeth sink in easily and the cookie melts in your mouth. You hum happily, treated to warm, buttery cinnamon sugar, and completely miss the smile the brothers share over your head.

“so much for not bein’ a good cook,” Papyrus teases you, biting into his cookie. His eye sockets widen, and he swallows. “whoa, this is really good,” he breathes. “you made this?”

On your other side, Sans finishes his first cookie in a matter of seconds and turns to stare at you. “THEY ARE AMAZING!” he agrees. “AND SINCE THEY CAME FROM UP HERE…”

The two brothers grin at each other. “looks like we just got our first taste of surface food, bro,” Papyrus concludes.

“Wait, really?” You look back and forth between the two, a sinking feeling in your stomach despite the smile on your face. “Does surface food taste that different? I would've gotten you two something more impressive if I'd known this would be a big deal.”

“it’s a little different,” Papyrus replies.

“MONSTER FOOD IS MADE OF MAGIC!” Sans continues. “IT TURNS INTO PURE ENERGY AND IS ABSORBED IMMEDIATELY. BUT HUMAN FOOD TAKES MUCH LONGER TO BE BROKEN DOWN, WHICH MAKES IT MUCH MORE FLAVORFUL.”

Papyrus turns a perceptive eye to you and smiles. “and hey, don't worry about it. i think homemade cookies make a great first, ‘specially when they're delivered in person by a new friend.”

Oh gosh, he called you ‘friend’. You squeak and look down at your lap, face red, and Papyrus laughs, patting you on the shoulder. “takes a lot more than some great cookies to drive us away, sweetheart. nah, you're stuck with us now.”

You can't see yourself minding that at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Sans, you find yourself giving the bros a tour of the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm continuing this! :D
> 
> Compared to my other fics, though, this one'll be a lower priority. Hopefully I'll still be able to churn out some chapters, but finishing [Brothers Beyond Bonedaries](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6456040) takes precedence. Thanks for understanding!
> 
> Oh, and sorry this chapter's kinda short. I had to cut it before all the interesting stuff started happening, but I think I have a better idea of what I want to do with the plot now, so things should be picking up a little as Reader and the skelebros get a little closer.

It's another week or so before you hear from either of the brothers. They're probably just waiting for you to make the first move, but your anxiety blows things out of proportion, convincing you that you messed up big time somehow and that they never want to see you again, despite Papyrus’s words.

Thank goodness for Sans. After the aforementioned week of this nonsense, bright and early Saturday morning, a sharp rendition of Shave and a Haircut is rapped on your door. You had been intending to sleep in, but the cheery knocking startles you out of sleep. “Huh? Who izzit?” you call sleepily, pulling yourself laboriously out of bed and padding over to the door with a yawn.

“IT IS I, THE FANTASTIC SANS!” he shouts sunnily. You'd be annoyed about how cheerful he is at this ridiculous hour (what is it, nine AM? Who the heck gets up at nine on a weekend?) if he didn't sound so adorably happy. As it is, you can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. He continues, “I HAVE COME TO ASK, HUMAN, IF YOU WOULD BE WILLING TO ESCORT MY BROTHER AND I ON A TOUR OF THIS CITY!”

Your eyes still bleary with sleep, and your glasses still on your nightstand, you have to put your face right up to the lock and squint to unbolt your door and get it open. You can't imagine what Sans thinks of you greeting him like this, in just a tank top and sweatpants with your hair a mess, but your brain isn't awake enough yet to bombard you with thoughts of inadequacy, so you just lean heavily against the doorframe and give Sans a limp-armed wave. “Hi. Yeah, I think I can do that. When?”

Sans narrows his eyes at you, focusing intently on your face, then decisively says, “FIFTEEN MINUTES FROM NOW! THAT WILL GIVE YOU PLENTY OF TIME TO GET READY, CORRECT?”

“Huh?” you say intelligently. Then it sinks in, and your eyes widen. “Wait, today? Really?”

“OF COURSE,” Sans grins. “UNLESS YOU HAVE OTHER PLANS?”

You chew the inside of your cheek. No, you don't really have plans, and it would be nice to spend more time with the skele-brothers. (No, wait, just ‘the brothers’. You shouldn't focus on them being monsters, that's probably really rude. You're making an effort to treat them like any other person.) But so soon? You haven't psyched yourself up for social interaction yet!

Then again, more time to prepare means more time to worry, too. “I'll do it,” you say with a firm nod, spinning and marching back to your bedroom to get changed. (Of course, this means that you basically just slammed the door in Sans’s face, but you'll have plenty of time to agonize over that later.)

Now, what to wear?... Knowing the brothers, they'll probably just be wearing the same things they always do, so you can't imagine them caring what you're wearing. But you think it's important to look put-together, especially in front of — dare you think it? — your _crush_ , and especially when you're going to be spending the whole day with the two of them for the first time. With that in mind, you go for a pair of dark jeans and one of your favorite graphic tees, finishing the look with a matching zip-up hoodie from your small collection and a simple necklace that doesn't distract from the shirt’s print. After that, it's a race to get ready, as you try to fit brushing your teeth, fixing your hair, grabbing a quick breakfast, and everything else you have to do before leaving the house into the time you have left.

You don't quite succeed. Two laconic knocks sound against your door just before you have everything together. “Hey, Papyrus,” you call. “I just need to grab a couple more things, but I'll be out in a sec, ‘kay?”

“sure thing, sweetheart,” he answers. 

“PAPPY, YOU'RE SO RUDE!” Sans admonishes him. “YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO ASK IF THEY’D LIKE ANY HELP. LIKE THIS!” He clears his throat, then asks, “HUMAN! DO YOU REQUIRE ANY ASSISTANCE?”

Swallowing back laughter, you pull the door open and fish your key out of your bag. “Thanks for the offer, Sans, but I'm good. You guys ready to go?”

“OF COURSE!” Sans answers peppily, and Papyrus shrugs, so you lock the door, testing the handle a few times to make sure it took before heading to the stairwell.

Sans stares at you in wonder. “HUMAN, YOU ALSO USE THE STAIRS? I AM SO GLAD YOU ARE COMMITTED TO PHYSICAL FITNESS!”

“Only on the way down,” you answer sheepishly, giving Papyrus a small smile when he snorts at that. “It's a big apartment building, so I think it's only fair to leave room in the elevators for other people. Plus, I get motion sick easily, and these elevators are really old and rickety. And, well…” Really fast, you mumble, “AndI’mlesslikelytoencounterotherpeople,” then continue brightly, “I never take the stairs up, though. That's way too much work.”

You thought for sure Papyrus would agree with that, but both brothers are just looking at you a little strangely, and you redden, speeding up a little so you can open the door for them and wave them through.

“so, where were you plannin’ on showing us around, sweetheart?” Papyrus asks curiously as you all go down the stairs.

You shrug. “Dunno, really. I've lived here for a little while, so I can definitely show you a couple of things around the city, but I wouldn't call myself a tour guide or anything, and I didn't exactly have time to put an itinerary together.” Ticking off places on your fingers, you say, “I was thinking I'd show you guys the communal garden first, then we could take the subway down to the financial district so you can see the skyscrapers -”

“SKYSCRAPERS?” Sans interrupts, starry-eyed, and you laugh.

“Yeah, we've got a ton of them here. Um, let's see, after that I was thinking we could catch a real tour on a duckboat” - the brothers both look confused, but don't interrupt, until you mention that you'd be starting the tour by the aquarium. After that, Sans can barely contain his excitement, even after you explain that you hadn't been planning on actually visiting the aquarium. You're not sure how he'll be able to get through everything that comes before that part of your tour — he's practically _vibrating_! — but Papyrus just lays a hand on his brother’s shoulder and Sans seems to calm. You give the tall skeleton a thankful smile and he shrugs, skipping the last step and pulling the door open for you.

At the entrance to the apartment building, you turn to them. “So, are you guys ready to see the sights?”

“YEAH!” Sans cheers, sticking a fist in the air, and Papyrus grins, chomping on his ever-present lollipop. “you bet.”

“Great! Then let's get going.” You throw open the doors and step into the sunlight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your tour begins, but hits a few bumps along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for a nongraphic panic attack and some unhealthy responses to prior trauma. Nobody gets hurt, though.

True to your word, you take the brothers by the communal garden first. It's really just a broad bicycle- and footpath, but the brick wall on one side of the path is covered in art, and everyone works together to make it beautiful, placing sculptures and posters along the sides and taking care of the garden plots that border the road. This path was what first made you feel welcome in town, and you tell them as much, pointing out your favorite drawing on the wall as you go.

“IT’S SO OPEN,” Sans exclaims, racing ahead of you and spinning in the middle of the path, arms outstretched. A couple of passersby give him funny looks, but he doesn't seem to notice, and they quickly scurry off when his brother glares at them. “YOU CAN SEE SO FAR FROM HERE!”

“sure can,” Papyrus agrees. “we didn't have anything like this underground.”

Still, despite how pretty it is, there's only so much you can do on the road, so the three of you move on, Sans bouncing far ahead, and yourself and Papyrus ambling after. Since you're the only one who knows where you're going, you're trying to prepare for telling Sans he'll have to double back after missing a turn or something, but evidently the short skeleton has a lot of practice keeping up with slower moving folks, which you guess makes sense considering his sibling. Either way, you get to the subway station without incident.

The skeletons don't understand the turnstiles, and when you try to explain that they’re to make sure that no one can get in without paying, they don't get that, either. “NOBODY HAD TO PAY THE RIVERPERSON WHEN THEY WANTED TO GO ANYWHERE,” Sans protests.

This is how you find yourself explaining the basics of capitalism and human greed to two monsters. Sans doesn't quite seem to get it — his eyes glaze over and he quickly goes back to people-watching, though he's still pouting over how unfair human economics is — but Papyrus seems to have a real interest. He keeps asking questions, so you answer them as best you can, although your high school and college economics lessons never prepared you for being grilled by a magical skeleton monster on the principles that govern cash flow. Despite your ignorance of the subject, you get into it enough that you probably would have missed the train had it not been for Sans’s excited shout upon its arrival. 

The three of you pile on, Papyrus immediately claiming an open seat by the door as the humans spread out to avoid him. He's still smiling, but it's got a bitter edge to it that you instantly want to smooth away. That’d be way too forward, though, so you just give him a ruefully apologetic look when he next meets your eyes and claim the pole right in front of him so you can talk.

Something’s wrong, though. Just a moment ago, Sans was really excited about getting to ride the train, but now that he's here and standing inside one, he doesn't look too happy about it. His eyes are wide and scared, and, as you watch, he starts tearing up and trembling. “Hey, uh, are you okay?” you ask, trying to find a balance between being loud enough to be heard over the racket and quiet enough not to startle him. 

At your words, Papyrus’s head shoots up and he's at his brother’s side in an instant and wrapping him in a big hug. “it's okay, bro, it's okay,” he whispers, running a hand over the back of Sans’s skull. “ssh. we're not there, i promise. and you know i hate makin’ promises, right?”

“UH-HUH,” Sans mumbles into the fabric of his brother’s shoulder. His gloved fingers grip Papyrus’s pullover. “CAN YOU- ?”

“‘course, bro.” Papyrus picks his brother up easily, cradling him in his arms, and goes back to his seat. Sans curls up against his ribcage. It'd be adorable if not for the fact that Sans is still trembling. “th’ barrier’s broken, and we're livin’ aboveground. right now, we’re on a train. hear those voices? those’re humans who are also on the train. and, hey, guess who else is on the train?” Papyrus’s eyes meet yours beseechingly, and you nod, taking one of the empty seats next to him. He gives you a grateful smile. “yeah, that's right, our cool neighbor friend is on the train with us! maybe they wanna talk some?”

Oh god oh god what do you say in a situation like this. “Um. Hi?”

Papyrus chuckles. “you could talk about the places we’re goin’,” he suggests, “or just talk about your day. anything’d work, really.”

Sans peeks, teary-eyed, at you, not making any move to get off his brother’s lap. “PLEASE?”

Obviously, there’s no way you can say no to that. Haltingly at first, then gradually more confidently, you tell them a funny story about your college roommate. Sans gets more into it as you go, and by the time you get to the end, he’s awash with giggles and having a hard time sitting upright. The train’s still a long way from your destination, though, so you tell another story, this time about something dumb you did in high school, then another about some of the wacky people you've dealt with at work. By the time you get to your stop, you're pretty sure you and Papyrus have managed to coax Sans out of his panic attack, but you make a mental note to catch the bus back instead of the subway. It might not make a difference, but you don't want to put Sans on another subway train unless there are no other alternatives.

As soon as the doors are open, Sans bounds out onto the platform, dragging his brother after him. You follow along as best you can with the crush of people, half-expecting the brothers to be gone when you get there, but they're waiting for you to make your way over to them. Then you feel kinda stupid, because, duh, of course they are! You're the only one who knows where you're going!

“WHERE ARE WE GOING NOW?” Sans asks, and you're shocked by how chipper he sounds. It's like he never had a panic attack at all, and, honestly, the effect is a little unnerving.

“Are you sure you're up for it?” you say cautiously, trying to read his expression for any sign of the stress he just went through.

He giggles, looking for all the world like he just finished frolicking through a field of flowers. “WHY WOULDN'T I BE? COME ON, HUMAN, WE SHOULD GET GOING!”

You look to Papyrus for answers, but he just shrugs. Great, no help there. You card your hand through your hair with a sigh. “Well, next I was planning on taking you guys on the official tour, I think. We'll have to walk for a while to get to where they start, though. Is that okay?”

“i dunno, that sounds like an awful lotta work,” Papyrus says lazily. 

You don't have time to think anything other than _oh_ before Sans stamps his foot. “YOU'RE SO UNGRATEFUL, BROTHER! OUR NEIGHBOR FRIEND IS PUTTING IN A LOT OF EFFORT TO SHOW US AROUND. THE LEAST YOU CAN DO IS A LITTLE BIT OF WALKING!” he fumes.

“you're right, bro. just like always.”

“MWEH HEH HEH, OF COURSE I AM! THE FANTASTIC SANS IS NEVER WRONG!” Sans poses, then glares at his brother. “YOU SHOULD APOLOGIZE TO THE HUMAN NOW, PAPPY. YOU WERE VERY RUDE.”

“yeah,” Papyrus agrees, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I-it's okay, I'm fine.” You rush to change the topic. “Um. Once we get back aboveground, we'll be in the financial district. There'll be a lot of big buildings and cars, so be careful where you step — I don't want either of you getting distracted and walking into traffic. And we'll be walking to a big, glass building — you should be able to see it in the distance, so walk towards it.”

Sans nods confidently. “ALRIGHTY! I CAN DO THAT. C’MON, LET’S GO!”

The three of you make your way through the subway station, climbing stairs and maneuvering through the crowds. When you make it to street level, the skeletons take a moment to take in the sights, staring appreciatively at the bustling streets and tall, reflective buildings. Soon enough, though, Sans is searching the skyline for the aquarium roof. When he finds it, he looks toward his brother, who nods, and then he darts off and it's just you and Papyrus.

The two of you walk in silence for a while. But you still feel the need to apologize for earlier, so you decide to speak up. “Once we get on the tour, it'll just be sitting down the whole time,” you offer quietly.

He glances at you, one eyebrow ridge raised. “you're still worried about that?”

You wince, and his eye sockets widen a little. He puts a hand on your shoulder. “hey, sweetheart, i didn't mean anything by it. it’s just… when sans has those attacks, it's easier for him to recover when i give ‘im something to yell at me about, y’know? ‘s no reflection on the quality of your plans. sorry i hurt your feelings.”

“No, it's okay.” You smile apologetically at him. “Sorry, I'm oversensitive. You don't have to worry about it.”

He frowns a little at you, squinting seriously into your eyes. “hey, they're your feelings. if i’m hurting you, even on accident, ‘course i’m gonna apologize.”

You bite your lip, watching the sidewalk slide by under your feet so you don't have to keep eye contact. “Um, speaking of Sans, what was up with that?” Papyrus’s features tighten, despite his lack of skin, so you hurry to add, “You don't have to tell me, if it's private or something. I just want to know how I can help. Are there any triggers I should avoid?”

He crunches on the stick in his mouth, but meets little resistance, and removes the empty lollipop stick with a sigh. Rolling it between his fingers, he says, “sans doesn't do well in enclosed spaces, ‘specially if they're metal. he’s uncomfortable with being alone for extended periods of time, too, and he's not too fond of quiet. tall people unnerve ‘im a little — that's why i slouch, but you won't have a problem with that.” He holds out an elbow like he's trying to rest it on your head, but there's a significant gap, so it just kind of stays in the air.

“I'm not _that_ short!” you protest, discreetly rising to your tiptoes. It makes little difference in the space between your head and his elbow.

He unslouches, raising a pointed eyebrow ridge at you from his totally unfair height. “sweetheart, you're almost as short as my brother. what are you, 5’1?”

“Four foot eleven,” you confess, pouting. “And a half!”

“pff.” He drops back into his slouch with a grin, tossing the lollipop stick in a trash can as you pass and reaching into his pocket for another one. “you're real proud of that extra half inch, aren'tcha, shorty.”

“Well, how tall is your brother, then?” you challenge him.

He doesn't even look up from the lollipop he's unwrapping. “5’1.”

“Dammit.”

Papyrus laughs, tossing the wrapper in the can and sticking the candy in his mouth. “anyway, it’s pretty easy to tell when my bro starts panicking. when he starts tearing up and shaking, give ‘im physical contact and reassurance. keep talking ‘bout whatever comes to mind, but try to focus first on where you are and the little things about it, like i did with the people on the train. he’ll come out of it pretty quick.”

You nod, committing everything to memory. “Then what?”

He looks at you seriously. “listen, sweetheart. my bro deals with that kinda stuff by walling it away and pretending it doesn't exist. it’s probably not the healthiest way he could deal with things, but he's got a lotta stuff he's better off forgetting about. i do all the remembering between the two of us, got it?”

It feels wrong to agree with keeping things from someone, but that attack on the train… That was just a symptom of whatever caused it, and it was bad enough by itself. You never want to see bright, cheerful Sans that upset again. Still… “Forgetting won't keep it back forever,” you say quietly.

He sighs. “i know. it's just a stopgap measure, right? but i never wanna see him go through that again. so until it's unavoidable, i’ll keep him happy at whatever cost.”

That arrangement is _so_ unhealthy. Sans needs to work through his issues, and Papyrus can't deal with every single problem they encounter alone. But it's obvious how determined he is to protect his brother, and you don't know anything about the kinds of things Sans is forgetting. Maybe they really are better off left forgotten. 

Besides, you're just the nextdoor neighbor. It's really none of your business. 

“Okay,” you agree, ignoring the rush of guilt. “I won't say anything. But I'm here for you, okay? If you can't talk to Sans about anything, I'm right next door.”

“yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this is pretty much 'Damaged Cinnamon Rolls Too Good for This World: The Fanfic.'


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While buying tickets for the tour, Reader is faced with casual cissexism, and learns something new about monsters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader's tour of the city was only supposed to last one chapter. What am I doing with my life.

Sans doubles back a little later and walks with you the rest of the way to the aquarium, complaining that he got “BORED OF WAITING FOR YOU TWO SLOWPOKES!” Probably as a result, the trip takes a little less time than it might have otherwise. Walking with Sans tends to do that, you guess. He's an excitable little blueberry, and even after having already seen the outside of the aquarium, he still bounces over to stare at the giant turtle mural on the wall while you and his brother investigate the duck boat tour booths.

Papyrus stares uncomprehendingly at the cartoonish emblem painted on the sides, a happily waving duck in a sailor’s cap, while you ask the guy manning the stand how much three tickets would cost. Wincing, you pull out your wallet and dig through it to find the right credit card, but Papyrus puts a hand on your arm. “you don't hafta do that for us, sweetheart,” he says. “we can pay for ourselves, yanno.”

Your head is shaking before he’s halfway through his sentence. “No way,” you tell him, stubbornly pushing your card at the guy manning the stand. “You guys got screwed over bad with the whole introduction-to-capitalism thing, and besides, you're the guests. It's the least I can do.” Even if you are living wage-to-wage. You'll worry about it later.

Papyrus hesitates before giving up with a shrug. “well, alright. don’t let me stop you.” He gives you a sly grin. “you do realize that means we’re getting the next one, though.”

You freeze briefly, giving the poor guy behind the counter an apologetic smile when he looks at you strangely. “I-I’d like that,” you stammer sincerely.

When you make no move to continue the interaction (your crush just said he'd take you out again sometime! It's not quite a date, but it's still something to get excited over!), the guy behind the counter sighs a long-suffering sigh and pushes your tickets across the little ledge. “Here are your tickets, uh, sir? Ma’am?” 

This issue always seems to crop up when you least expect it. You're really not either, but arguing the point would be both anxiety-inducing and, most likely, fruitless. You'll just tell yourself that the fact that he can't tell which side of the binary he thinks you fall on is enough of a compliment that you don't really care about being misgendered. Well-practiced at this, you pick up the tickets and sidestep the issue with a sincere, if lackluster, “Thanks.”

“thanks,” Papyrus echoes as you hand him two of the tickets. But then he adds, “they prefer mx., though. why didn't you use that instead?”

Oh, god, you probably look really obnoxious right now. You can practically feel the stares of the crowd around you get more intense as you make a scene out of doing something simple like buying tickets. The worst part, though, is the way Papyrus sounds so totally curious and sincere as he says it. It's like he really doesn't understand why some random human you've never met before would never have known your pronouns by looking at you, if the poor man even understands what it means to be off the gender binary to begin with. You tap him on the arm and nervously mutter, “It's fine. Let's just head over to the duckboats, okay? People are looking.”

“IT IS NOT FINE!” Sans declares suddenly from behind you, and you jump. He gives you a reassuring smile, then continues, “BEING ADDRESSED INCORRECTLY IS HURTFUL, BUT THAT IS WHY YOU MUST STAND UP FOR YOURSELF, HUMAN-NEIGHBOR! IF YOU DO NOT TELL THE OTHER PERSON THAT THEY HAVE HURT YOUR FEELINGS, YOU WILL SIMPLY KEEP BEING HURT.”

“It’s really not that simple, though…” 

“BUT OF COURSE IT IS! WATCH AS I, THE FANTASTIC SANS, DEMONSTRATE.” Sans has to go on tiptoes to peer over the counter. You'd be more amused if you hadn't just had to do the same thing, and if Sans wasn't preparing to tell off an innocent worker who is almost certainly not paid enough to deal with this. “HELLO, HUMAN!” he begins cheerfully, and you pull your elbows in close and let your eyes drop to the ground. This is exactly the opposite of what you wanted to happen. “I CANNOT HELP BUT NOTICE THAT YOU HAVE WRONGFULLY ADDRESSED MY FRIEND OVER HERE. AS MY BROTHER HAS ALREADY SAID, OUR NEIGHBOR-FRIEND PREFERS TO BE CALLED ‘MX.’, NOT SIR OR MA’AM. WHY DID YOU NOT ADDRESS THEM IN THE WAY THEY PREFER? AND ALSO, WOULD YOU MIND PRESENTING THEM WITH AN APOLOGY FOR YOUR IMPOLITE CONDUCT?”

The poor guy behind the counter is sweating, and looks like he'd rather have his metal folding chair come to life and eat him than be here right now. You kind of empathize with him. “I’m sorry, I'm sorry,” he stammers, looking desperately at you. “P-please don't eat my soul; I just got married. I- I kind of need it.”

Papyrus rolls his eyes, somehow, and Sans just huffs. “I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THESE HUMANS GET SUCH NOTIONS,” he grumbles to himself.

“They’re not going to eat your soul,” you reassure the poor man. He nods, hope and fear battling in his eyes, and you turn back to the skeletons. “Look, I'm flattered that you guys wanna stick up for me and everything, but it's really not worth it, okay? Practically no one knows anything about nonbinary identities, and we really don't have enough time to bring him up to speed, considering that the next tour leaves in, like, two minutes.” A thought occurs to you, and you frown suspiciously at them. “How’d you even know I use Mx., anyway? I never told you guys that.”

The brothers exchange a look. “YOUR SOUL TOLD US, OF COURSE. HOW ELSE WOULD WE KNOW?” Sans asks, puzzled.

“I thought you said they didn't eat souls!” the man behind the counter yelps, and Papyrus facepalms. “monsters do not eat souls,” he explains slowly. “but all monsters can pick up on certain details about you by listening to your soul. ‘s just basic stuff, like your name, age, pronouns, stuff like that.”

“DO HUMANS NOT KNOW HOW TO CHECK?” Sans’s eyes are wide with understanding and concern. 

“no wonder you guys’ve got so many issues,” Papyrus agrees, sharing a look with his brother. “man, that’d explain a lot, if humans can't hear souls.”

“BUT CHARA CAN DO IT!” Sans protests. “MAYBE THE HUMANS JUST HAVE TO LEARN.”

They both turn to you, and you shrug helplessly. “Don't ask me. I only just found out souls were a real thing.”

The brothers frown at that, obviously shocked and concerned, but the ringing of a bell down by the parking lot signals boarding time before either of them can open their mouths. “we’ll talk about this later,” Papyrus decides.

“This is really interesting, though,” you complain. “I don't know how I'll be able to sit through the trip with this stuff on my mind. Man, this is gonna be torture.”

Sans’s eyes twinkle. “DON’T YOU MEAN… TOUR-TURE?” He waves an enthusiastic set of finger-guns at the two of you, prompting Papyrus to groan heavily.

“bro, that was awful.”

“IT’S NOT LIKE YOURS ARE ANY BETTER!” Sans fires back with a self-satisfied smirk.

The taller brother sighs, resignation evident in every line of his body. “i know, and i hate it.”

This back-and-forth is obviously well rehearsed, and, honestly, it's pretty adorable. You snicker, prompting another grin from Sans, and queue up to get on the truck.

The brothers both look really confused, and the line’s pretty slow, so you explain a little about what the tour will be like. Sans gapes in amazement when you tell him that part of the tour will go through the harbor, and Papyrus looks intrigued by the idea of a vehicle that functions in both land and water. You're just facepalming over not having gone over this sooner. They just got to the surface; of course they don't know what a duck tour is! They assure you the mystery was intriguing, though, not irritating, so you'll postpone your worrying for later.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You participate in some magic.

Despite being really excited to see how the brothers react to the tour, you keep drifting off. You got to bed really late last night, after all, and being woken up several hours earlier than you were expecting is taking its toll. Plus, there's just something lulling about rolling over roads in a padded seat.

After the eighth time your eyes drift closed, you snap awake to Sans’s hand gently shaking your shoulder and your head on something orange. Oh, god, you fell asleep on Papyrus’s shoulder.

(It was bony, sure, but his hoodie’s just as soft and comfy as it looks. Behind the thick curtain of screaming embarrassment in your head, you find yourself wondering if you'll be able to do it again sometime.)

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry about that,” you stammer, red in the face. “I didn't mean to be rude, promise! I was just really tired, and -”

Just like the first day you met him, Papyrus cuts you off with a boop to the nose and a gentle reminder to breathe. On your other side, Sans giggles. “DO NOT WORRY ABOUT IT, HUMAN,” he assures you.

“yeah, we’re both used to people falling asleep on us. i do it to my bro all the time.”

“MY BROTHER IS VERY GOOD AT SLEEPING,” Sans nods. “SO GOOD, IN FACT, THAT HE CAN DO IT WITH HIS EYES CLOSED!”

It's his pleased grin, and his brother’s long-suffering sigh, that get you to laugh, more than the, ahem, _tired_ punchline. “I'm sure he is,” you agree, stretching blearily with a series of accompanying pops from your spine. Both brothers wince, but you don't notice. “How badly does the driver want us off this truck?”

“we’ve, uh, only been parked for a little while,” Papyrus answers hesitantly, sneaking a glance at your back. The sight seems to reassure him a little, and he relaxes. “we should probably get going, though, ‘fore the next tour starts.”

“Yeah, prob’ly.” Then you remember how far away you are from your apartment, and groan. “Urgh, walking…”

Sans perks up. “IF YOU WOULD PREFER, HUMAN, I COULD TAKE US BACK?”

“Wait, really? How?”

“magic,” Papyrus replies, waggling his fingers mysteriously. “c’mon, it beats walking all the way back to the subway station.”

“You don't have to convince me,” you say, suddenly awake. “Sans, you're gonna appearify us all?”

“YES! AS LONG AS YOU ARE UP FOR THAT, OF COURSE.”

“Heck yeah, I am **totally** up for magicking,” you breathe. “Do I have to do anything, or…?”

“just stick close to us,” Papyrus tells you, but Sans is frowning contemplatively, tapping a finger against his chin. “IF IT WERE JUST YOU AND I, HUMAN, HOLDING HANDS WOULD SUFFICE. BUT, WITH THREE PEOPLE, THAT MIGHT BE TOO DIFFICULT.” An idea seems to occur to him, and he claps his hands together with pride. “BROTHER, CAN YOU LIFT THE HUMAN, PLEASE?”

Papyrus sizes you up. “think so,” he answers, and suddenly his arms are around you and you’re being princess carried. He grins down at you. “you comfy, sweetheart?”

Error 404: a response to that question cannot be found. Cheeks roughly the same hue as a strawberry, you turn away from the eye contact, noticing how far away the floor looks when you're basically lying down in a giant’s arms. “Y-you're very high,” you squeak out, flushing even more when you realize that doesn't come close to answering his question.

He snorts. “nah, you're just tiny.”

“Are you people off my truck yet?” a voice complains from up front, and Papyrus shifts you so you're sitting on one arm. “hold onto me tight, okay?” he asks, and you tentatively put your arms around his neck. “sans’s shortcuts can be a little rough when you're not used to them. just stay calm and everything'll be fine.”

“Okay?”

Sans grabs onto Papyrus's free hand and leads him to the doorway, waving happily at the driver as he passes. Her eyes seem to bore into you, and you hide your face in Papyrus's shoulder. He takes one, two, three shallow steps down, and suddenly the world washes cold.

You're not in the tour parking lot. You're not anywhere. The three of you are walking on what looks like a sparkling blue aura of light, surrounded by empty, infrablack space. If you look hard enough, the darkness swims and becomes a multitude of ones and zeroes the same nauseating colors as the ones that dance on the insides of your eyelids. Even though the brothers are walking, you can't feel any sensation of movement. It's dreamlike, really, that sense of the world moving under you while you stand still, and you could swear the nothingness _ripples_ under Sans’s left hand, outstretched beyond the glow as if testing the seams of reality. You walk like this for somewhere between a second and an eternity before Sans’s hand seems to catch on something. He grabs it and _tugs_ , and something tears, the nothingness ripping away and revealing a door back into reality. The brothers step through, and everything blurs, a whole rainbow spinning past your head and resolving into so

mu c h

w h i t e . . .

When you come to, you're leaning against the side of the apartment building, the brothers leaning worriedly over you. “I'm okay,” you reassure them, trying to stand up. Dizziness crashes into you like a wave, and you fall against the bricks again. They fall over themselves to help you up, but you hold up a finger, closing your eyes and waiting for the fireworks in your head to die down. You are a total pro at this.

Finally, the unsteadiness passes, and you pull yourself to your feet again, taking a deep breath and breathing a sigh of relief when you're able to remain standing.

“ARE YOU SURE YOU'RE ALRIGHT, HUMAN?” They both look worried, but Sans’s eyes are wide and wobbly. Aw, poor dear.

“I am totally fine!” you proclaim, gripping his shoulders and grinning madly. “Sans, that was awesome! You do that every time you pop somewhere else?”

He looks a little confused. “WELL, I MEAN, KIND OF?”

Papyrus, on the other hand, looks amused, and a little intrigued. “so, sweetheart, how was your first trip on the sans express? see anything interesting?”

You relay your general impression of the trip, interjected with as many synonyms for the word ‘cool’ as you can think of (could anyone blame you? You just experienced real life magic for the first time!), and Sans’s eyes get sparklier and sparklier. “THAT DOES SOUND AMAZING!” he enthusiastically agrees. “I WISH I COULD HAVE SEEN HOW VERY COOL I, THE FANTASTIC SANS, WAS BEING!”

Wait. What? “But- You-” you stammer, looking back and forth between the two brothers uncomprehendingly. “You were there, so- ?”

Papyrus lays a hand on your shoulder. “everyone who’s been through my bro’s shortcuts says they see ’em differently,” he explains, and you blink.

“Oh. Huh. Um, okay. What do you guys see, then?”

Papyrus shrugs. “looks to me like he marks a point with magic, then lassoes it and pulls us through.”

“I JUST KIND OF _GO_ ,” Sans says, making an expansive gesture with his hands that clarifies absolutely nothing. “IT’S EASIER WITH A NATURAL TRANSITION POINT, THOUGH.”

“Oh.” Okay. Magic. Huh.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The elevators in this building are not the best.

The three of you file into the apartment lobby, trying to look natural, like you didn't just appear here in a flash of light. By that you mean, Sans bounces in like he normally does, Papyrus saunters with his hands in his pockets, and you trot alongside them, beaming widely and resisting the urge to shout, “I just did a magicky thing!” at the receptionist. He looks up from his computer anyway when you come in, and you return his wave, without even overthinking it. Wow!

Unfortunately, the happy mood doesn't last. By the time you cross the lobby, there’s a small family waiting at the elevator bank, and the mom’s been glaring at your little group since she rounded the corner and saw you. You've got a bad feeling about this.

Your two groups stand there awkwardly for a while as you wait for one of the little lights at the top of the doors to flash, each trying to ignore the other. You try to relax the tension by making a remark about the weather, but no one replies, and the lady just glares at you harder. Great. Should you try again, or just stay silent? You shift back and forth from foot to foot, debating the merits of either option and knowing you'll wish you picked the other one later.

The elevator arrives before you have to suffer through too much more of this, but you're not sure if you can stand being in a confined space with Judgey Mcjudgerpants over there, even for only as long as it takes to get to your floor. Luckily, her husband grabs her shoulder and waves your group through. “You go on ahead. We’ll catch the next one,” he says over his wife’s protests. You dip your head at him in thanks as you pass by, ignoring his whispered, “Isn't waiting five minutes for the next elevator worth not having to be in the same space as them?” and the creepy stares of their two kids.

As soon as the doors shut, you all breathe a sigh of relief and the tense atmosphere vanishes. “Man, humans are jerks,” you complain, stabbing the button for your floor and wishing it was that lady’s forehead.

“you’re not, though,” Papyrus remarks.

“Yeah, but…” You trail off, flailing for the right words, before sticking your tongue out and settling with a sincere, “Humans. Bluh.”

The elevator rises with a slow grinding of machinery, and Sans winces. Oh, shoot, you forgot about Sans’s enclosed-spaces-with-metal-walls problem! “You doing okay?” you venture.

His arms are wrapped around himself, and he's slowly moving closer to his brother, but he shrugs. At least he isn't shivering, though, and his eyes are clear of tears. Still, it's a good thing you won't be in here too much longer.

Of course, right as you think that, the elevator grinds to a halt, and the cheap light in the ceiling flickers and goes out. Great.

You can just barely see them in the dark, their bones reflecting enough light that you can muzzily make out where their legs and skulls are. It's kinda cool, actually, in an inhuman kind of way, and you catch yourself briefly wondering what they'd look like under UV light before asking Sans if he's still doing okay.

“I-I’M FINE.” 

His answer is quieter than you'd expect from him, and comes from about floor level, so you plop yourself down next to him. “Hi, ‘fine’. I'm neighbor.” It's the corniest joke you can think of, and it surprises a bit of laughter out of both of them. Score one for you!

Papyrus follows your example and joins the two of you on the floor, pressing practically right up against you. From the looks of things, he's had to sit diagonally to fit his legs in the tiny box you're all currently trapped in, and you smother a giggle. Serves him right for being so tall. 

“so, ah, what exactly is the problem here?” he asks. “i was under the impression that we were supposed to be moving.”

“Oh! Yeah, that's definitely a thing we're supposed to be doing,” you agree. “The elevator’s stalled, though. Something must have gone wrong with the machinery.”

“okay. is there anything we can do about that?”

“Call people to tell them we’re stuck and wait for them to fix it, I guess? But… eurgh, _phones_.” You shudder, only a little melodramatically. Do you call the fire station, or just push the elevator’s help button? Does that button even work? Given this building’s relationship with electrical fixtures, probably not, but you don't know the number for the fire station off the top of your head, and if you have to call 911 for this you're going to feel really stupid. “Let's try the help button first,” you decide, pulling yourself up with the railing and squinting at the rows of buttons. Now, which one - ah! Here you go.

You press it. There's a loud, staticky crackle that leaves everyone wincing, and then there's a click at the other end of the line and someone asks what the problem is. Oh, thank goodness. You explain the situation, and, sounding vaguely bored, they tell you to stay calm and that help will be on the way. You know, at some point. Then they hang up. Alrighty then.

“So, that's done, I guess,” you say, as you allow gravity to pull you back down to the floor. “What now?”

“C-CAN YOU KEEP TALKING?” Sans asks, and your heart sinks. Poor guy’s had a rough day.

“Sure thing, Sans,” you tell him. “Also, um, it's okay if you'd rather not, but can I hug you?” 

The words are barely out of your mouth before you have a lapful of skeleton. Just like Papyrus, he's noticeably bonier than a human, but the breastplate of his armor is plasticky and serves to put about the same distance between your bodies as skin and muscle would. And unlike his brother’s warm, almost-human heat, the very air around Sans seems to crackle with a minty chill.

While you note the things you're not used to about him, he seems to be doing the same with you. “HUMAN?” he asks, head resting on your chest. “WHAT IS THAT SOUND YOU'RE MAKING?”

“Huh? Oh, you probably mean my heartbeat. It's a lub-dub, lub-dub kinda sound, right?”

He looks up at you, the blue of his eyes shining faintly in the dark. “WHAT'S A HEARTBEAT?”

Jeez, these skeletons are really putting you through your academic paces. First economics, now biology? You're just glad you remember your body systems units. “Humans are made of cells, right?” you start, but he's just looking at you in confusion. You sigh. “Cells are these little tiny things that make up bigger things. A bunch of cells together make what's called a tissue, and a lot of tissue makes an organ, and organs work together in groups to keep us running.” Both skeletons are staring at you now, and you blush, thankful for the cover of darkness. “A-anyway, the cells all need energy to keep running. They need food, and water, and oxygen. We use blood to carry that stuff to them, but we have cells all over our body that need these things, and the blood needs to keep moving all the time so that none of them die. That's what our hearts are for: they act like pumps to keep the blood moving. The heartbeat you hear is my heart sending fresh blood to the cells, then taking the old blood back to send it to the lungs for more oxygen.”

“WOW,” Sans breathes, putting his head back to your chest to listen more. “SO IT'S KIND OF LIKE OUR MAGIC, THEN.”

“Um, I guess?”

Papyrus chuckles. “here, sweetheart.” He pulls your head down against his shoulder, moving slowly enough not to startle you in the dark, and settles back against the wall.

You don't notice anything at first, and are just starting to contemplate how ridiculous the three of you must look leaning against each other in the dark like this when a low hum reaches your ears.

He feels warm, like his handshake had been, but more, a sleepy, torrid kind of heat that perfectly balances Sans’s cold snap. This is what you thought of when your bio teachers kept talking about homeostasis, this balancing act of hot and cold, and both of them are humming faintly with potential, one under your head, one over your heart. “Whoa,” you breathe, suddenly understanding how Sans must feel, confronted with undeniable evidence of an alien presence. “That's, what, your magic circulating?”

“yeah.” He looks over at Sans, still listening to your heartbeat, and smiles. “weird to think ya don't have any.”

“PAPPY, YOU KNOW THAT ISN'T TRUE,” Sans scolds him, and you jolt.

“Wait, what? Are you saying _I've_ got magic?!”

He giggles. “YOUR SOUL, SILLY!”

“My…?” Your hand drifts up towards your sternum. That's right, souls are real! And you have one, apparently!

Papyrus winks at you. “wanna see it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What color soul do you think Reader has? :3c


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You discover what your soul looks like. And - hey, what do you mean, you haven't gotten their numbers yet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being pretty long. Whoops. ^^' (Next chapter's pretty long, too. Lucky you!)
> 
> It was really interesting to see everyone's guesses as to Reader's soul trait. Congrats to LainaFantasyGirl, who was the only one to guess correctly, and thanks to everyone else for your thoughts!

Souls are serious business, the brothers explain to you. They don't get waved about for everyone to see, and they understand if you'd rather not show it to them. As the culmination of one’s being, they're very private, and drawing one out of someone's body requires incredible trust.

“i probably shouldn'tve offered so quick,” Papyrus admits, “but the idea of not knowing you have a soul doesn't sit right with me.”

“No, no, it's okay,” you reassure him. “I want to see it.” More than want, you're desperate to see it, this magical thing that is _you_ , boiled down to your simplest everything. Your heart pulses in your chest, and if you concentrate, you can convince yourself the second beat is your soul, fluttering at the prospect of becoming acquainted with you for the first time. No, want is an understatement. You need this.

Sans giggles. “YOU'RE REALLY EXCITED ABOUT THIS, HUMAN,” he observes. “WHICH ONE OF US WOULD YOU PREFER TO DO THE HONORS?”

Aw, what? You have to choose? But you don't want either of them to feel like you're favoring the other! Noticing your face, Papyrus says, “why don't you do it, bro? you're already over there, and besides, you're better at this kinda stuff than me anyway.”

But Sans is shaking his head. “NO, YOU SHOULD DO IT, PAPPY. I- I DON'T WANNA...” He trails off, but his eyes are dim. You think you get the jist.

“What if you both do it? Is that a thing you can do?” you ask, and Papyrus shrugs.

“well, it isn't the usual thing to do, but why not?” He looks over at his brother. “sound good to you?”

Sans nods, grinning, and scoots off your lap and onto his brother’s. They both hold up a hand, Sans’s left and Papyrus’s right, and, together, they ask, “Are you ready?”

There's only one thing you can say to that. “Yes,” you answer, and close your eyes.

The humming comes back, and the air grows heavy with promise. There's a feeling in your ears like you're underwater, and two hands, one hot, one cold, gently grasp something within you and tug.

There's a pop, or maybe two clicks, and when your eyes blink open again, everything is blue.

There's a blue heart floating in front of you, casting blue light over the elevator walls and the brothers’ bones. It's like all you can see is black and white and blue, like a bad joke about a frozen zebra or a bruised penguin or something. You reach out and cup your hands under it, and when you try to pull it closer to you, to get a better look, it follows easily.

The heart in your hands is a deep ocean blue. When you tilt and look at it from different perspectives, though, you think you might catch a hint of green, or even yellow. If it were a lake, the color would be beautiful, but souls are supposed to be pure, right? This… This is what you've always been afraid of. Your soul is murky, contaminated.

It's obvious you don't belong. Who'd want something like that?

But the brothers have been staring in awe since the little heart lit up the room. “those colors are really something else,” Papyrus remarks.

“THE HUMAN HAS A LOT OF INTEGRITY,” Sans agrees. “AND IT WOULD APPEAR THAT KINDNESS AND JUSTICE ARE ALSO PRESENT IN SIGNIFICANT AMOUNTS.”

“You talk about it like it's a good thing,” you mutter, resisting the urge to cover it.

Papyrus rests a hand on your shoulder. “sweetheart, it's gorgeous,” he tells you, and there's not a flicker of hesitation in his lazy voice.

Oh, look at that. You're blushing again. Lousy goshdarn stupid crush, being so matter-of-fact while he tells you your soul is beautiful. You don't agree with him, but everyone has a different opinion on these things, you guess, so you just say “okay” and then search for something to change the topic to. “So, uh… You said you guys can hear souls, right? Is mine saying anything special?”

“i’m just hearing the typical stuff,” Papyrus says, cocking his head to the side slightly. “y’know, name, age, pronouns, like i said.” He looks at you seriously, though, and adds, “i’m also picking up on a bit of your emotion, i think. no need to be embarrassed or worried, sweetheart. we’re not gonna judge.”

Yep, that sure is a blush on your face. Doesn't seem like it's going to leave any time soon, either. You bury your head in your knees. “Okay.”

“if you want, though,” he continues, “sans could check you, tell you what he sees? like i said before, my bro’s real perceptive. he gets a lot more of the soul stuff than i do.”

“Okay.” Realizing you just said the same thing three times in a row, you lift your head and give both of them a weak smile. “I'd like that, I think.”

“A-ARE YOU SURE, HUMAN?” Sans seems a lot more worried about this than you are, which is kind of ironic. From what you can see, he's pushing his fingers together and fidgeting. “I WOULD NOT BE OFFENDED IF YOU WOULD PREFER TO RETAIN YOUR PRIVACY.”

You shake your head. “Nah, go ahead. I trust you.” After all, you know about his panic attacks. It's only fair he finds out whatever he'll find out about you. Besides… “I'd end up telling you anyway, right? Better now than never.” And if they're going to freak out and stop talking to you, you'd rather they do it sooner than later.

The logic seems to click with him, and he nods, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. When he opens them again, his right eye light seems to have winked out, and his left is a darker, more piercing blue. It trains in on your soul, and Sans stills, staring at the blue heart in silence.

The weight of his gaze, the faint buzz of magic in the air, and the heavy silence are kind of unnerving. You almost wish for some obnoxious elevator music, just to have something to focus on other than the fact that your friends are staring at your actual soul and are in the process of finding out who-knows-what about you.

Finally, he blinks and his other eye flickers back on. (Jeez, it's weird to think about it like that.) He rattles off a series of abbreviations and numbers that mean absolutely nothing to you, but Papyrus nods sagely, as if some important information is being imparted. You hazard a guess. “Are those my stats?”

They both nod, each looking worried. Well, Sans does. Papyrus is still smiling like he always seems to be doing, but in his eyes, there's a strange mixture of understanding and concern. “your numbers are real low, sweetheart,” he says. “‘specially your hp. you must be real pessimistic.”

“LIKE YOU'RE ONE TO TALK, PAPPY,” Sans mutters. His baby blue eyes meet your brown ones. “HP, OR HOPE, STANDS FOR HEART'S OVERALL POSITIVE EMOTION,” he explains. “IT ROUGHLY MEASURES HOW MUCH PUNISHMENT A SOUL CAN TAKE BEFORE IT SHATTERS. WHEN SOMEONE EXPERIENCES A LONG PERIOD OF HOPELESSNESS, THEIR MAXIMUM HOPE DROPS. FROM WHAT WE'VE SEEN, A HUMAN CHILD'S AVERAGE HP IS 20.”

That makes a scary amount of sense. You're starting to understand why Sans was so reluctant about doing this. Even without being able to read your mind or anything, with just that one number, the skeletons can figure out your outlook on life, if you've had any bad experiences, and even how much it would take to bring you down. You're guessing it's really hard to keep living after your soul shatters. “...How low is mine?”

“half that.” Papyrus rests a reassuring hand on your leg. “‘s no death sentence, though. my hp’s been lower than yours for a long time, and i’m fine. ‘sides, it's probably got something to do with your lv, and that's something to be proud of.”

“LV?”

“LOVE,” Sans answers.

Papyrus glares off into space. “more specifically, level of violence. it measures how willing you are to hurt others. your hp goes up as it grows, but the bigger it is, the more you see people as nothing but pawns in your game.” His voice drops into a growl. “or worse, _in your way._ ”

A shiver crawls up your spine, and he gives you an apologetic look. “sorry, sweetheart. bad memories.”

“YOUR LV IS REALLY LOW, THOUGH!” Sans quietly exclaims, eyes shining in the lowlight. “THE LOWEST WE'VE SEEN IS 0, BUT YOU'RE -2!”

Oh. Look at that, you've upgraded from blushing to tearing up. “And… that's a good thing?”

“yeah. means you can't take as much as other humans, but you're sensitive to other people’s needs. you probably notice a lot more than most folks, right?”

Those are definitely tears trailing down your cheeks. Man, you should really get a grip on yourself. “I- Everyone's always telling me I'm too sensitive,” you confess around the lump in your throat. “People don't think it's worth it to deal with how I'm always freaking out over every little thing.”

Sans glares. “ANYONE WHO SAYS SUCH AWFUL THINGS DOES NOT DESERVE THE PRIVILEGE OF YOUR PRESENCE, HUMAN.”

“yeah, screw ’em,” Papyrus agrees. “who needs people like that? ‘sides, sensitivity’s a thing a lot of humans up here seem to lack. be proud of it. the surface could stand to have more folks like you, in my humble opinion.”

Somewhere in the middle of this little speech, you've managed to upgrade from a few tears to full-on sobbing. “Y-you guys…” you manage to get out. “What’d I do to deserve neighbors like you?”

“hey, you didn't have to _do_ anything. you were yourself. that’s all you need.” Papyrus’s smile as he looks at you is small and fond, and your soul glows a little brighter. 

He opens his arms, and you dive into them, pulling Sans over so you can hug him, too. The two of you easily fit in his lap, even together. You feel safe and comforted, held in two pairs of skeletal arms, and surrounded by the soft hum of magic.

Still, having your soul out in the open like this is vaguely unsettling, even if “the open” in this case is only a stuck elevator. Without lifting your head from where it's buried between the skeletons’ chests, you jerk a thumb at your soul and mumble, “How do I put that thing back?”

“just grab it and push it back in,” Papyrus answers. His drawling tenor vibrates through his ribcage, even through his pullover. “it should go back easily, even through all that stuff you humans have in the way.”

“Ugh,” you complain, “that means getting up, though…” Taking far more time than you really need, you extricate yourself from the bros’ grasp and cup your hands around your soul. It bobs gently, seeming to sense your presence, and a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. That's kinda cute, actually.

Following Papyrus’s instructions, you slowly pull the soul towards yourself. God, you probably look ridiculous right now. “Do I need to, like, say anything special?” you wonder self-consciously. “I feel like I should be saying some magical phrase and doing a little dance to change my clothes in a shower of sparkles or something.”

“I SUPPOSE YOU COULD IF YOU WANTED TO, BUT I DON'T SEE WHAT DIFFERENCE IT WOULD MAKE,” Sans replies, shooting a confused look up at his brother, who’s having a hard time holding back laughter.

“we have got to introduce you to undyne,” Papyrus manages to gasp. “i bet the two’f you’d get along great.” Wiping an imaginary tear from under his eye socket, he continues, “but nah, you don't hafta do anything. just push, sweetheart.”

You just push. The soul slides in easily, just as Papyrus had said, though it's pretty freaky watching it sink into your chest, and you let out a breath you hadn't even been aware of holding. Having your soul out hadn't felt wrong, exactly, but it still feels nice to have it back in place. And, whoa, hey, are you seeing more colors than you had before? Papyrus’s hoodie looks oranger. That's really weird. Maybe you were right about only being able to see in black, white, and blue after all. That's really, really weird.

That done, the three of you chat aimlessly while you wait for the elevator people to come. It only takes a little while longer, thank goodness. You’re getting kind of hungry, and, though you like hanging out with the bros, you'd like a little alone time to recharge your batteries. People are exhausting. (Sans seems a lot happier now that he's out, too. That's a big plus.) The brothers still insist on walking you back to your apartment, which sounds a whole lot nicer before you remember that they literally live right next door. Ah well, it's a nice gesture regardless.

You're saying your goodbyes and unlocking your respective doors when a thought occurs to you. “So, uh, hey,” you say, trying to sound casual. “I never got your guys’ numbers. Wanna trade?” Oh god, that didn't come off as being flirty did it? Because yeah you like him but you don't want to put a move on him or anything, oh god, they probably think you're trying to flirt with them that was awful why did you even try?

But no, Sans immediately whips out his phone and practically barrels into you with insistence, and by the time you finish trading numbers with him (you have to look up yours; your phone doesn't see much use), Papyrus has his phone out and is holding it out to you. “Um, here,” you say, pushing your phone at him instead. “Why don't you put your number in mine instead? Then I can just text you. It'll go a little quicker that way.”

He raises an eyebrow ridge at you, but shrugs, taking your phone easily. “alright, i’m game.”

After a few seconds, he hands it back to you. You check your contacts: apparently, he's just named himself ‘papyrus’ with an orange diamond, in contrast to his brother’s ‘THE FANTASTIC (AND VERY COOL) SKELETON NEXT DOOR!!’. That one has the matching blue diamond after it, followed by a hamburger emoji, a rocket ship, and a skull and crossbones. Aw, cute.

You select Papyrus’s name and hesitate before typing in a quick message: “Hey, I meant what I said back there, before the aquarium. If you need to talk, please don't hesitate to text me. Okay?” You read it over one, two, three times, making sure you're not making any typos or saying anything that could be interpreted badly, then hit send before you can second-guess yourself into backspacing it all and just writing something like ‘it me’ instead.

He doesn't pull his phone back out to check the message, though, and you squirm internally, caught between wanting him to read it right away so you can tell what he thinks of it and wanting him to never see it. You repeat your goodbyes, and this time manage to make it through your door without any last-minute dialogue.

You've just collapsed against your door when your phone buzzes in your bag. It's Papyrus.

The message?

i will if you will sweetheart


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you interact with a monster that isn't a skeleton! (And Asgore.)

You spend Sunday sleeping in, shooting off replies to texts from the guys as they come in. Sans seems to be the chatty type (not that that's a big surprise), practically liveblogging his day to you and bombarding you with questions about life on the surface. Papyrus doesn't text you at all, but Sans says his brother told him to tell you hi. Apparently, the taller skeleton is too lazy to text himself and relies on his brother to relay most of his messages. You're pretty lazy yourself, but that's just sad.

Then again, you're also letting Sans do most of the work in your conversations, simply because taking the lead means too many things can go wrong. Maybe Papyrus has the same problem you do with texting first and is getting around it by letting his brother do the talking.

You'd test that theory, but that would mean texting him first. Maybe later.

Monday dawns bright and early, and you roll out of bed with all the enthusiasm of a half-dead slug. Mornings are the worst, especially on days when you have the early shift. Throwing on a plain black tee and a lighter pair of jeans, you regretfully make yourself presentable and grab your things, heading out to what is sure to be another lively, entertaining day on the job.

On your way down to the lobby, you run into Sans coming up the stairs. Apparently, he's just coming back from a morning run, as evidenced by the sweat bands around his arms and forehead and his ‘JOG BOY’ shirt. He seems elated to discover that you're going on a run of your own, and you feel awful about having to burst that bubble by telling him you're just off to work. Somehow during the course of the following conversation, you find yourself agreeing to come with him on his run tomorrow, and by the time you realize, he's already bouncing away, elated at the prospect of spending more time with you. Hoo boy, that'll be something to look forward to tomorrow.

You’ve got two shifts today: one at a quaint little diner called the Gem, and another at a tiny little tea shop hidden away in the business district. You've also got another job working at a bookshop, which, honestly, is your favorite of the bunch, but it's a drop-in kind of job you only got because you hung out there so often in college. The owner doesn't need any help, and the pay’s awful, but you love chatting with the owner and any customers that might stumble in. If not for the fact that, eventually, you really want to make a living off your voice, you wouldn't mind working there for the rest of your life. (Well, that and the fact that you'd rather not be stuck behind a counter ‘til you're old and gray. Let's be honest, working retail sucks.)

Work at the Gem is business as usual. You help open the place, run yourself ragged during the breakfast rush, scarf down your employee-benefits meal between rushes, then run yourself ragged some more for the lunch crowd. As soon as the dishes from the rush are cleared, you grab your tips and skedaddle to make it to your other job on time.

You're a little late, but the girl you tag out promises not to tell. It's weird; the tea shop has much less to do than your job at the Gem, but it's also much stricter. Maybe it has something to do with there being so many less employees to keep an eye on.

You find yourself dozing as the time goes by, forbidden to do much else but sit and stare out the window and chronically low on sleep. If your boss were here, she'd chew you out for being unprofessional, but luckily the bell on the door startles you out of your drowsiness before she comes to check on you.

The new customer is a monster, a big one, and you sit up a little straighter. He looks familiar, somehow, and you're, like, 85 percent sure that’s because this big goat-looking guy is actually the king of all monsters. In your little tea shop.

He has to stoop to keep his horns from scraping against the ceiling, though. That's kind of cute.

“Hello, can I help you find anything today?” you call, voice blessedly even. Having a script helps you not freak out so much about what you're supposed to say, until you realize you're not sure where you're supposed to stick the ‘Your Majesty’.

He doesn't seem too ruffled, though, and you breathe a sigh of relief. That's right, this guy doesn't like to make a big deal about his title. Thank goodness. “I’m just browsing, for today,” he rumbles, smiling comfortingly at you. “Though, if you have any golden flower tea, my stock could use replenishing.”

Golden flower? Maybe it's a monster thing, because you've never even heard of it. “Sorry, I don't think we've goat any of that,” you answer.

He stares blankly at you, and then his shoulders start to shake. Did you say something funny? Oh, shoot, you said something funny. Clapping a hand over your mouth, you flush. “Got any,” you mumble into your hand. “Sorry, I definitely meant got.”

“It is fine,” he chuckles, waving off your apology goodnaturedly. “That was a very good joke, little one. I promise you, I am not offended. In fact, I thought it was very… _punny_!”

His eyes light up in satisfaction, obviously proud of his joke, and you resist the urge to groan. Why does everyone always respond to puns with that? “Yeah, I guess you could say I'm a bit of a _pun_ dit,” you answer on a sigh, giving him a small smile. It's your typical answer when someone uses that line on you, emphasis and all, but he gives a big belly laugh and beams in appreciation before continuing his exploration of the shelves.

Despite his size, the big monster is quiet as he browses, which is how you hear the voices outside the shop.

“I think it’s over here,” one of them calls, sarcastic and biting despite the youth in their tone and the innocence of the words. 

“think you might be right,” the other drawls in response, and your head shoots up. Papyrus? What's he doing here?

You'll find out soon, you guess, because the bell over the door is jingling as a young kid and, yep, Papyrus step through the door. “Hey, Dad,” the kid says, going over and standing next to the goat guy. Of course, he's a dad. It's all making sense now.

And if the king is their dad, that's gotta be Chara, unofficial ambassador of monsterkind. But that's really not a surprise, considering both their company and the way they're glaring at you. You try not to take it personally — they have a reputation for disliking humans, and, really, you can't blame them — but you shrink back nonetheless.

Papyrus follows their gaze and raises an eyebrow ridge at you. “didn't know you worked here, sweetheart.”

The way Chara’s glare hardens doesn't escape you, but you try to ignore it. “Hah, yeah,” you laugh nervously. “Small world, right?”

“Papyrus, who’s that?” Chara demands, tugging on his sleeve. “I thought I told you not to talk to any humans without me!”

“settle down, squirt.” He drops a hand on their head and ruffles their hair affectionately. “this’s sans’s and my neighbor. y’know, the one i was talking about, who made those great cookies?”

“I can make cookies, too,” they grumble under their breath. You try to stifle a snicker, but their head shoots back up anyway and they fix you with that death-filled glare again. Then a slow smile spreads over their face, and your eyes widen. How does this tiny kid manage to make a smile more intimidating than a glare?

Tugging Papyrus’s sleeve again, Chara points to a can with a red label on one of the higher shelves. “Pappy, can you get that down for me?” they ask, voice sugary sweet. “I wanna see what it says, but it's too high!”

Papyrus thinks that over, then crouches down. “i got a better idea, sweetheart,” he says, and you jolt. H-he calls them that, too? It's stupid, but you had thought it was something special between the two of you. But that was obviously just wishful thinking. You've known him, what, a week or so? That's not nearly enough time for a nickname, idiot! And here you are feeling, what, jealous that he talks to other people? God, you're pathetic.

Chara flashes you a smug smirk as they climb onto Papyrus’s shoulders. You wither under their triumphant gaze.

The rest of their visit continues on in much the same manner. Chara makes an effort to monopolize as much of your crush’s attention as they can, and every time he calls them ‘sweetheart’, you cringe. Finally, after far too long, Asgore brings a cute little teapot and a packet of one of your most expensive teas up to the front. You ring him up, clinging tenaciously to your customer-service smile, and slip up with your math on the receipt. Luckily, Chara is all too happy to point out your mistake before it goes too far. 

Of course, that means your math just got corrected by a middle-schooler, which is, of course, _exactly_ what you need right now.

Asgore swings his kid into his arms and leaves, with a merry wave and reassurance that your mistake was no big deal. From over his shoulder, Chara pulls down an eyelid and sticks their tongue out at you.

As soon as the bell on the door stops jingling, you slump, rubbing tiredly at your eyes. Meeting Asgore was cool, but Chara’s like the bratty, obnoxious younger sibling you never wanted. You hope you won't see much more of them.

“something wrong, sweetheart?”

Your head jerks back up at the unexpected words, but it's just Papyrus. Wait, he didn't leave with the others? You guess not. “I’m fine,” you weakly assure him, dragging the back of your hand across your forehead.

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow ridge at you. “suuuure, that’s real convincin’,” he drawls. Taking a softer tone, the skeleton continues, “look, sweetheart, i know i can be kinda dense when it comes to this sorta stuff. but if you want me to tell you anything about what's going on with me, you're gonna have to start by telling me what's up with you.”

“It's stupid, though,” you complain. “And I don't want to bug you…” He gives you a look, and you trail off with a sheepish laugh, running a hand through your hair. “It's just… You've got all these friends. Like, you hang out with the king of all monsters like it's no big deal, and I can tell you and the ambassador are really close. Plus there's Sans, of course. And then there's me… and I really don't have anyone like that.”

He's still grinning, but his eye sockets are narrowed at you. You have no idea what that means.

After an awkward silence, you decide to restock the shelves, just to have something to do while he thinks. (And, you know, to get paid.) Finally, Papyrus seems to come to a decision. “hey, are you free tomorrow?” he asks your back.

Turning around to reply, you answer, “Maybe? Depends when. Your brother wanted to take me on a run in the morning -” he winces sympathetically at that, and your apprehension grows “- and I've got work after that, but my boss is pretty good about giving me whatever time off I need. Why, what's up?”

“yeah, that oughta work,” he nods to himself. Completely disregarding your question, he says, “i’ll text you tomorrow, so keep an eye out.” Then he walks out the door, unwrapping a lollipop as he goes.

The bell jingles cheerily once again, and you find yourself alone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's morning! Time for... ugh, _running_...

Sans had sent you a goodnight text last night reminding you about your morning run, and, not even wanting to think about what his face would look like if you told him you were too tired to run with him, you managed to get to bed really early. When your alarm goes off, you don't exactly spring out of bed, but you do feel more rested than you usually do. You're even feeling kind of pumped about this whole morning run thing. Sure, you get an average of, like, five hours’ sleep a night and eat way less than you probably should, but you got up early today, practically at the crack of dawn, to go running! You're the healthiest, it's you.

Digging through your wardrobe, you find a tee shirt, some sweatpants (you'd rather be too hot than too cold while you run, and besides, it's chilly and gray out, especially at seven AM), and a tight-fitted jacket that won't flop around too much. After pulling them on, you pose for the mirror and toss yourself a pair of finger guns. You look active, for once, and the standing collar of your jacket and the bright racing lines over the dark sides make you feel like some sort of cyberpunk hero or something. Plus, there are thumbholes in the sleeves. How awesome is that? But your phone buzzes before you can spend any more time admiring yourself, and Papyrus’s good-luck message reminds you why you were so nervous about this run in the first place.

What the heck are you doing, volunteering to do physical activity with other people? You suck at running! You're going to look pathetic compared to Sans, you just know it, and then he'll laugh at you and and think you're a giant wimp. (Well, you kind of are, but still.) Or worse, he'll tell you you're just not trying hard enough and push you to do better. Your tolerance for physical activity is so low, people always think you're faking it when you just can't do any more, and someone as active as Sans won't understand why you won't be able to keep up.

You'll just be holding him back. It's better just to cancel.

But that would mean either telling him why, which would defeat the purpose, or lying to him, and you really don't want to make Sans feel like you don't think he deserves the truth. It sucks to have someone you think of as a friend lie to you about why they don't want to hang out. You have no choice but to go.

You grab your keys and phone and drag yourself out the door. Sans is standing right outside of it. How long has he been waiting there?

“GOOD MORNING, HUMAN!” he greets you, hopping from foot to foot. “ARE YOU READY FOR OUR RUN TODAY?”

Uhh. You try to match his enthusiasm with a bright smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace. “I guess?”

“GREAT! COME ON THEN, WE SHOULD GET GOING.” It's barely noticeable, but you think you catch a flicker in Sans’s smile as he turns away.

As you head for the stairs, Sans asks you how your day went yesterday. You try to skim over how much of a brat Chara was being, knowing that he's probably close with them, but he just laughs. Apparently, they're obnoxious to everyone up until they decide you're _theirs_ , at which point they'll do anything to defend you from outside threats. You guess that explains how overprotective they were of Papyrus yesterday, as well as how they became the ambassador in the first place. They probably managed to accidentally adopt an entire race somehow.

You mention that thought to Sans, who giggles, but cautions you to avoid thinking of them as the ambassador. He says they were offered the position by Queen Toriel, but turned it down, unwilling to deal with so much responsibility. Apparently, Sans himself is the ambassador on paper, but Chara refuses to let him deal with humans alone and comes along anyway.

“I WAS KIND OF ANGRY ABOUT THAT, AT FIRST,” he admits offhandedly. “I MEAN, I’M NOT A BABYBONES! I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF! BUT IT MAKES THEM HAPPY TO FEEL LIKE THEY’RE PROTECTING ME, JUST LIKE WITH PAPPY, AND IF GLARING AT HUMAN DIGNITARIES MAKES THEM FEEL BETTER, THAT’S FINE WITH ME. IT JUST MEANS I CAN FOCUS MORE ON BEING THE CUTE, HARMLESS REPRESENTATIVE OF MONSTERKIND!”

Your thought process stumbles to a halt, and you blink, foot halfway to the next stair. Wait, what?

Sans giggles and keeps going, tossing a wink over his shoulder at you as he passes. (He literally says, “WINK!” How is this adorable blueberry the same skeleton that just implied that he had your country’s politicians eating out of his hand?) After waiting by the stairwell door for you to catch up, he bounces across to the lobby door and pulls it open for you. But before you walk outside, he stops you. “IF YOU NEED TO STOP FOR ANY REASON, JUST TELL ME, OKAY? I PROMISE I WON'T BE MAD. NOT EVERYONE IS AS FANTASTIC AT RUNNING AS THE FANTASTIC SANS, AFTER ALL! AND… I DON’T WANT YOU _RUNNING_ YOURSELF RAGGED TRYING TO KEEP UP WITH ME, HUMAN. THAT WOULDN’T BE HEALTHY!”

His concern for you is as refreshing as it is reassuring. God, how long has it been since someone told you they wouldn't mind if you tapped out of an activity they chose? And Sans doesn't even know the kinds of difficulties you have with this sort of thing.

You should probably tell him. He deserves that much. And besides, even your gym teachers were more accommodating after you told them about your issues, right? Maybe there's something else that you and Sans can do together. Fiddling with your sleeves, you blurt out, “I really, _really_ suck at running.”

He nods, looking totally unsurprised. “OKAY. WANT TO GO BACK UPSTAIRS?”

“Ye- I mean-” You cut yourself off, trying to figure out how to react to that. “I didn't even tell you why!”

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO!” Shrugging his shoulders, Sans smiles at you. “IF YOU DON’T WANT TO RUN, I’D BE A REALLY BAD FRIEND TO MAKE YOU. PAPPY HATES RUNNING, TOO, AND EVEN IF I THINK HE COULD PROBABLY USE SOME MORE EXERCISE, I DON’T MAKE HIM COME! AND HE’S MY BROTHER. I HAVE A CERTAIN AMOUNT OF LEEWAY WITH THINGS LIKE THAT.”

That's true, but you really didn't expect it to be this easy! It's probably stupid of you to feel so relieved over this, but you can't help the gathering wetness in your eyes. Sans looks a little alarmed at how you're tearing up, but readily reciprocates the thank-you hug you give him. “I want to tell you anyway,” you decide. “Is that okay?”

“OF COURSE,” Sans assures you. “THAT WAY, WE CAN FIND SOMETHING ELSE TO DO TOGETHER!”

You take a seat on one of the threadbare sofas in the middle of the lobby, and Sans sits down next to you (on the same sofa, not a different one!), which makes you smile. “I have… a lot of things wrong with me,” you begin, and he's quiet as you tell him about your weak joints, your poor circulation, and your Sensory Processing Disorder. Then he asks about the last two, and you explain how Reynolds makes it difficult to get oxygen to all your cells, which means you get tired a lot faster than you should when you exercise (and your toes turn funky colors in the winter!), and how SPD makes you so much more sensitive to things like pain and the weight of carrying around your own body. Then, more hesitantly, you tell him about your gym classes: how one teacher taunted you over your mile time, how she refused to believe you were trying your hardest because she “could've walked a mile quicker than that”, and how her water bottle said that “pain is just weakness leaving the body”. How your friends called you pathetic for not being able to keep up, how you always finished the mile under the rest of the class’s judgemental stares, the hoots and hollers as they pretended to cheer you on to the finish and clapped you on the back for your “great time” when you came in dead last yet again. 

His fists are clenched by his sides when you finish, and as the last of the words leaves your mouth, he can't restrain himself from leaping to his feet in anger. “THAT’S HORRIBLE!” he shouts, and you bring your knees up to hide behind in flustered embarrassment as the receptionist glances over. “NO WONDER YOU DON'T ENJOY RUNNING. ARE ALL HUMANS AS AWFUL AS THAT??”

“Well, I mean, they didn't know about the problems I've got,” you mumble.

“THAT SHOULDN’T MATTER! WHETHER THEY KNEW OR NOT, THERE IS NO EXCUSE THAT COULD JUSTIFY THAT KIND OF TREATMENT.” Sans looks filled with righteous anger, like he'd take on an army of all the people who had dared to hurt you, and your cheeks warm. You're not worth that kind of anger, you know, but the fact that he cares so much about this, about you… It makes you really happy.

“It was a long time ago. I don't even see those people anymore.” Still, something in your soul twinges as you think back to one of the worst offenders. You're glad he's gone, you really are, but…

Sans notices your bittersweet expression, you're sure, but he elects to ignore it and move on. Dropping back to the couch with a huff and enough momentum to make you bounce, he says, “I’M REALLY GLAD YOU DECIDED TO TRUST ME WITH THAT, NEIGHBOR-HUMAN. IT MEANS A LOT TO ME! BUT WHY DID YOU NOT TELL ME YESTERDAY THAT YOU HAVE SUCH PROBLEMS WITH RUNNING?”

You poke your fingers together guiltily, admitting, “I didn't want to disappoint you.”

Sans frowns. “IT’S MY FACE, ISN’T IT,” he says, the sentence more a statement than a question.

“Huh?”

He goes cross-eyed, trying to pout at his own face, and you can't help but snort at his expression. “YOU SEE, HUMAN, I WAS BORN WITH A DANGEROUS WEAPON: MY FACE IS JUST TOO ADORABLE TO SAY NO TO! PEOPLE CAN’T SEEM TO BEAR EVEN THE THOUGHT OF HAVING TO FACE THE SLIGHTEST EXPRESSION OF MY DISAPPROVAL.” He throws a hand to his chest and looks off to the distance. “YES, IT IS A DIFFICULT LIFE I LEAD, WHEN EVEN MY OWN BROTHER CANNOT BRING HIMSELF TO REFRAIN FROM SPOILING ME! THE CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD BURNT HER OWN HOUSE DOWN _EIGHT TIMES_ RATHER THAN TELL ME SHE DIDN’T THINK I WOULD MAKE THE BEST GUARDSMAN, AND MUFFET HERSELF DROPPED MY BROTHER’S SIZEABLE TAB, BEFORE I EVEN ENTERED HER SACCHARINE LAIR, AT JUST THE THOUGHT OF A WOBBLE OF MY LIP.”

You're doubled over at this point, not entirely sure if this is a serious complaint you're cracking up over or a comedy routine he’s putting on just for you. But he's been hamming it up enough that you feel justified in your uncontrollable laughter, and, by the wink he slips you, you guess he doesn't mind.

Just as you're winding down, he shrugs, concluding, “TRULY, SUCH CUTENESS IS A DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD,” and it's the utter sincerity of his voice that sets you off again. You're laughing so hard, you manage to fall off the couch, and that gets him going, too. You're rolling around on the floor of your apartment lobby, with a magical skeleton monster, laughing harder than you have in ages. And, just for this moment, you couldn't be happier.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're introduced to Ada, your friend and mentor. And also have a talk about _feelings_.

After a long discussion about what kinds of physical activity you can handle, you and Sans agree to take evening walks together rather than morning runs. You've been meaning to start walking more anyway, and it'll be much more fun to do that with a friend. And evenings just work better for you both. You won't have to get up too early, and Sans can take his usual run so that you don't feel like you're interrupting his training. It's a great compromise that leaves you both smiling, even when you realize that you're running late for work. Good thing you've only got the bookshop today, but still, you're gonna have to run if you want to get changed and make your job on time.

Which means that, of course, the only clean bottoms in your closet today are skirts. Because having an argument with yourself about whether or not wearing a skirt makes you a girl is definitely what you need right now. Wishing you could flip your subconscious the bird, but wishing more that you had a pair of shorts to wear underneath, you pull on a muted gray skirt, a blue polo, and some sneakers, hoping the added masculinity will balance out the skirt a little.

You're almost grateful you're running late now, since the effort you're putting into trying to get to your job on time is doing a pretty good job of distracting you from what the other commuters are probably thinking. You could say you're... _skirting_ the issue. (The brothers would probably get a kick out of that.) Finally, you arrive in front of the doors, panting, and, once you've caught your breath a little, you push through and enter The Book Nook.

The Nook’s a cozy little place, with thick carpets on the floors, yellow-y lights on the ceiling, and shelves and shelves of books. In the middle of it all is the counter, and behind that sits Ada, surrounded by plastic bags and racks of postcards. “You're right on time today,” they remark, sliding a bookmark into their current novel and folding away their reading glasses.

“Wait, really?” A glance to your watch confirms it - you got here a full five minutes earlier than you normally do. Oh, right, the lobby clock runs fast! Looks like all your rush was for nothing. “Whoops.”

Ada quirks an eyebrow. “So it was an accident, then? Somehow I'm not surprised.”

“N-no, that wasn't what I-” You try to explain, but they just smile, eyes dancing with laughter. Oh, it was a joke. You smile back, embarrassed, and they pat the seat next to them.

“Come here, you, and tell me what you've been up to lately.”

So you do. Ada listens patiently, eyes twinkling as you tell them about your adventures with the skeletons next door. With their white-gray hair and their warm demeanor, they've been like a grandparent to you ever since you came to the Nook freshman year looking for comfort and something to read. They weren't the first to introduce you to the concept of nonbinary identities, but seeing them so comfortable in their wrinkly skin helped you feel confident enough to accept your own, and they were the first person you got up the nerve to come out to. You don't know who you'd be without them.

You get a customer halfway through your retelling of the tour, but he's only looking to buy some postcards, and you finish from there without interruption. Ada looks mischievous, though, and you're braced for it when they innocently remark, “It sounds like the three of you are already very close.”

This is the fastest-growing friendship you've ever been in, but you wouldn't say you're a very good judge when it comes to how normal friendships work. “Maybe it's a monster thing?” you shrug. “I mean, they're supposed to be made of hope and kindness or whatever, right? And Papyrus has definitely been proof of that so far.”

“Oh, really?” they hum.

“Well, Sans, too, but Papyrus is just so…” You trail off, looking for the perfect descriptor, and Ada laughs.

“Are you sure you’re _just_ friends?”

You flush, caught. “Okay, so _maybe_ I have a little crush on him,” you mumble. “I mean, I think I do? It's so hard to tell.”

They nod sympathetically. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yeah.”

You've been looking for a label ever since you realized that you weren't like the other kids, especially when it came to things like crushes. It was pretty easy to figure out your asexuality, but the romantic side of the equation was much more difficult. Nowadays, you've been identifying as grayromantic asexual — that is, “not sexually attracted to anyone” and “only very rarely romantically attracted to anyone” — and Ada is well aware of your difficulties, both the ones that come with figuring out which label you're under and the ones that come with the feelings (or lack of) themselves.

“I want to be around him a lot,” you start, fidgeting with one of the pens on the counter, “and, like, I know he's a skeleton, but I really want to hug him. Maybe that's just the hoodie he always wears? It’s _so_ comfy — I told you I fell asleep on it, right?”

“You did.” They smile encouragingly at you, and you twiddle the pen faster.

“It's just, I can't tell if it's a crush thing or a friend thing, you know? Like, kissing is gross, so I wouldn't want to do that anyway, and I wouldn't mind cuddling with friends or even forehead kisses or whatever, so is it really a crush? Or is it a squish? Or am I just so attention starved that I'm, like, friend-crushing on anyone who talks to me for two minutes?”

Ada nods seriously. “It sounds difficult,” they say, chuckling when you nod emphatically at that. “But, my dear, it really doesn't matter what you call it. Do you want to be close to him?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you should tell him that.”

You nod, turning the pen over in your fingers. “Yeah, I know. I wanted to wait until we got to know each other a little better, but I think I'll tell him soon.”

“Good.”

The two of you chat about this and that, until you pull out your phone to look up the name of that robot whose new radio show Ada is listening to so intently and discover two new messages from Papyrus, received half an hour ago:

 **papyrus:**  
remember what i said yesterday bout texting you? _(There's a winking emoji.)_ well here i am

 **papyrus:**  
meet me at the paws and claws catfe on hamilton st

Shoot. “Hey, Ada? I think I gotta go,” you say, holding up your phone as proof. “Papyrus texted me a while ago saying that we should meet up, for lunch I think?”

“A date, perhaps?” You give them a look, and they laugh, holding up their hands in surrender. “Go have lunch with your skeleton, dear. I'm sure I'll have no trouble holding down the fort by myself.”

You nod, grabbing your bag and heading for the door. “Don't forget to tell me all about it!” Ada calls after you, and you groan, rubbing your forehead even as you smile.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long paws between updates. I wasn't really feline it for a while there, but now that Commewncement is over, I should have a little more mental space to devote to working on this.
> 
> EDIT: I'm putting together a playlist for this fic! Got song suggestions? I want to hear them! Leave a comment and I'll take a look. The playlist will be put on 8tracks and linked next chapter, if all goes to plan. <3

It takes you far longer than it should to find the right place, since nothing was coming up when you searched for directions until you realized it's the “Paws and Claws _Café_ ”, not “Catfé”. And then, of course, you remember that he’d said which street it was on in the original message. D’oh. 

When you finally arrive, Papyrus is sitting on the curb waiting for you.

“Hey,” you greet him, trying not to sound too out of breath. Come on, it was only a few blocks! Why do you have to be so bad at physical activity? “Sorry I'm late; I only got your texts a little bit ago. Hope you weren't waiting too long?”

The skeleton grins up at you. “nah, don't worry about it. sans’s been nagging me to get more fresh air lately anyway.” He holds out a hand, asking wordlessly if you'll help him to his feet, and you roll your eyes with a smile.

“Ugh, you're such a lazybones. Fine, but I'm warning you, I'm really bad at- whoa!” Turns out, skeletons are pretty light. You can't even help your younger sister up like this, but you're able to hold your ground semi-easily as Papyrus stands. You might even be able to pick him up, maybe? Oh, gosh, now you're thinking about sweeping him off his feet the way he picked you up on the duck tour. You'll just kind of quietly file that thought away for later.

He brushes himself off. “thanks, i ‘preciate it.” Then he nods at your skirt, abruptly reminding you of its presence on your legs. “special occasion?”

Feeling defensive, your voice is a little on the sharp side when you reply, “No, it was just the only thing left before laundry day. And, yes, before you say anything, people _can_ wear skirts without being girls. The shape of the fabric around my lower half does not, in fact, determine my gender.”

“no, i know,” he says, taken aback. “i’m not just gonna start ignoring what your soul says ‘cause of the clothes you're wearing. that'd be stupid.”

“Damn straight.” But you deflate a little when you realize you just yelled at your friend over something he wasn't even thinking. “Sorry,” you sheepishly apologize. “I'm so used to having to argue about it that I kinda just jumped down your throat, there.”

“wait, do humans actually say things like that?”

“Pretty much all the time,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “They'll yell at you for stuff like asking if they want a certain kind of coffee because, oh no, that's a _lady_ coffee. Like, _excuse me_ , I didn't realize the kind of bean water you drink could maaaagically reassign your sex!” Whoops, you had a little minirant there. Time for him to flip out about your unconventional views and walk off —

But no, he's just snickering a little, looking horrified, yet amused. It's a weird combination, but it looks good on him. “seriously? man, humans are so weird.”

You emphatically nod in agreement, prompting more snickers from your companion. “What?”

“nothin’,” he answers, strolling past you to pull open the door. “you're just cute.”

 _Meep._ Ignoring your flush, you exaggeratedly turn up your nose at him as you walk through the door. “‘Scuse you, I’m flipping adorable.”

“can’t argue with that,” he shrugs, following after you.

The Catfé- no, dammit, the _Café_ is nicely decorated in neutral tones; mostly grays and a couple of beige tones. It kind of reminds you of your childhood cats, which-

“Hang on, is this that new cat café that just opened up here?” you ask, eyes wide with excitement. Papyrus just raises an eyebrow ridge at the name and pawprint logo on the wall, and, yeah, you guess that’s a fair point, but that means there are _cats_ here and by the look on Papyrus’s face, that steadily rising squeal you had been imagining is actually an actual noise issuing from your actual throat and, uh, you should probably stop doing that maybe. “I’ve been meaning to check this out since I first heard about it,” you excitedly tell him. “I mean- cats! Café! What could be better than cats and croissants?”

He shrugs, looking amused. “i wouldn’t know, i’ve never seen either. ‘s why i wanted to come check this place out.”

“...you’ve never seen a cat?”

“nope.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “there’re a couple of cat monsters, like rg02 or the pizza bagel guy, but i’ve never seen an animalian one.”

Ani- oh, like a regular cat. “That needs to be fixed immediately,” you tell Papyrus, grabbing his sleeve and tugging him over to the host. “Table for two!”

The host frowns disapprovingly at the two of you, but motions you in anyway with an unenthusiastic, “Right this way.” (You stick your tongue out at him as soon as he turns around. It feels less like sweet revenge and more like you’re just being childish, but, hey, he deserves it.)

The room he leads you into is full of shelves, chairs, and tables, with cats laying around indiscriminately on any empty surface and blinking boredly at you and the other patrons. There’s a cute little gray tabby meatloafing on the table you're seated at, and you don't hesitate to crouch down next to her and hold your hand out for her. She takes a couple of dainty sniffs, then graciously allows you to pet her head. “Aw, hi, kittie,” you coo, sliding a gentle fingertip from the bridge of her nose up between her ears. “You gonna hang out with us while we eat?”

She chirps at you in reply, and you grin, blinking slowly at her when she meets your eyes.

When you look up, Papyrus is standing over your shoulder, looking thoughtful. “you look like you know what you're doing,” he remarks.

“Well, yeah. I grew up around cats.” You give the tabby one last pet and step back to Papyrus’s other side. “Here — hold your hand out under her nose so she can smell you.”

“okay.” He follows your lead, offering his hand, and the cat stares up at him, unmoving. Things aren't exactly tense, but they do take a while, and if this were an anime, there would probably be over-exaggerated sweat drops over Papyrus’s and your heads. Finally, she rubs the side of her head on Papyrus’s fingers, signifying that she finds his presence to be acceptable, and would maybe like him to scratch a little under here thanks.

He does, face soft, and you smile. “So?”

“cats’re soft,” he says, wonderingly. “like, i dunno, lazy dogs.” He runs a hand over her head and down to her tail, and she gives a happy little wiggle, half-standing under his fingers when they reach the base of her tail. He turns to you, eyes panicked. “did i do that right?”

“Sure did,” you smile. “See, her eyes are closed. And I think she's purring a little, too!”

His eyes widen even more, and his hand jerks away. “are they supposed to vibrate?”

The tabby looks reproachfully up at him, then, when he takes no notice, turns her gaze on you. Laughing, you return to petting her head. “That’s purring, Papyrus. It means she’s happy.”

Deciding all at once that she’s had enough, the tabby butts once more against your hand, then jumps down, sauntering over to a cat tree and curling up in one of the little caves. You watch her go, grinning, then turn to Papyrus.

He's looking thoughtful again. “you fit right in with them, huh, kitten?”

K-kitten?

Snorting at the look on your face, he says, “‘s like you're a little cat yourself. sans said maybe ‘sweetheart’ was too impersonal for you, so i figure it’ll do. ‘less you don't like it?”

“I-it's okay,” you admit, plopping down in your seat and burying your face in the menu so he can't see you blush. “But only ‘cause it's you.”

“heh. well, that's alright, then.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Café chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Reader sings is Hello Seattle, by Owl City. Here's a [link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qBtdQNPG3jk)!
> 
> The playlist I mentioned last chapter is up and running - you can find it [here](http://8tracks.com/sempiternalpetrichor/sweeter-than-honey). If you've got any recommendations for songs, feel free to let me know.
> 
> And, hey, while I'm throwing around links? If you like how I write, check out my other fics! I've got [a longfic I'm working on](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6456040) with a skele-ton of plot twists and puns, and I post oneshots all the time. And there's always [my tumblr](http://twixtandshout.tumblr.com/), if you've got any questions or want to get to know the person behind all this. I'd love to talk with you guys!
> 
> Alright, that's enough self-promotion for one day. Let's get to the fic.

There's not much on the menu that you can eat, unfortunately, but you're well used to that, and, anyway, croissants are great. You consider getting some kind of juice to go with it, but they don't have pineapple, so you just stick to water. Meanwhile, Papyrus has been staring uncomprehendingly at the menu since you sat down, so you're not at all surprised when he just says he'll have what you're having. The bottle of honey isn't something you were expecting, though. And you can't say you were expecting him to start drinking it right from the bottle, either.

After a shocked beat of silence, you laugh. “Wow, classy.”

“you know it.” He winks.

“Really, though? Straight from the bottle?” You raise an eyebrow at him. “At least put it in a spoon or something, dude. Or put way more than you need on that croissant and spoon it up afterwards.”

“you grow up ‘round dedicated condiment-drinkers, too?” he asks, setting the bottle down.

With a shrug, you nibble tentatively at the croissant. Not the best you've had, but still good. “I mean, I never drank it out of the bottle, but I won't say I haven't poured myself an extra spoonful of maple syrup after pancakes before. And I used to eat cream cheese plain, when I was younger.”

“huh.” His eyes wander to the jugs of syrup by the napkins (tightly sealed to prevent a sticky cat-astrophe), and you wince.

“Not that kind! That's not maple syrup, it's ‘maple-flavored breakfast syrup’. It's gross, and, as your friend, I am not letting you make that mistake.”

He snorts. “you’re awfully opinionated about syrup.” But he turns away from the syrupy imposters, so mission accomplished.

“Damn straight. It's real maple or nothing.” You pause, considering, then add, “I’d say it's a pretty big maple of my diet.”

“aw, come on,” he groans, sinking lower in his seat with a grin. “i get enough of that at home!”

You snort, taking another bite of croissant. “House about you finally _stoop_ to our level, then?”

“ah, but, y’see, i could never hope to apporch your mastery of the subject.”

It's a good thing you weren't drinking just then, because spit-takes just aren't as funny in real life. “Oh my god, that was awful!” 

He grins at the look on your face. “i try. sans is better at them, though.”

Okay, any pun with the word ‘pun’ in it is automatically awful, but he set you up for it, so you have to take the oppuntunity. “I dunno, I thought that one was punderful.”

“stoooop.” He groans low and long, and you laugh at the abject misery on his face.

“So, hey, anyway,” you start, nibbling at your pastry, “not that I don't enjoy your company, but what's the occasion?”

He shrugs, leaning nonchalantly on one elbow. “figured, since we’re neighbors and all, that i should take an opportunity t’get to know you a little better. find out more about you and stuff.”

Oh. It's sweet of him to take an interest in you like that, but you can't help but wonder if it's just because of that thing you said at the tea shop. It practically dripped of “ _Ooooh_ , I'm so _lonely_ , pity me and shower me with affection, person-who-I’ve-known-for-two-weeks.” (Damn it, you've been trying to be better about oversharing! Haven't you learned yet that nobody cares about your stupid problems?) Then again, even a pity friend is better than nothing, right? You'll just have to try harder not to talk too much. So you widen your eyes and laugh a little in something approximating surprise, words flowing as easily as ever.

“I mean, I'm pretty typical, I guess. I just graduated college last year, and since then, I've been living here in the city, trying to figure out what I want to do for the rest of my life.” There. That was short enough, right? _Conversation is like a volleyball game_ , your old therapist’s bright voice reminds you. _You have to make sure everyone gets a turn._ Your father adds, _You bore people when you go on and on about those shows you watch. People like you more if you just listen to what they have to say._

Right, you have to “return his serve” now, so that he gets to see what a good listener you are. ~~_A normal person wouldn't have to think about that. But you're not like them, are you._~~ “What about you?”

He gives you a shrewd look. “nah, that's not what i meant, sweetheart. i wasn't talking about the surface stuff when i said i wanted to get t’know you.”

Oh.

He pauses, lets that sink in. Then he continues, “would you rather i just ask questions? i know some people have a hard time talkin’ ‘bout themselves without being prompted.”

“Okay.” You're going to mess this up so bad. You can feel it.

But Papyrus just gives you a reassuring smile. “no worries, i’m not gonna grill you too hard. let’s start with something simple. what's your favorite color?”

“Cyan,” you answer immediately, torn between feeling insecure about how weird of an answer that is and proud of how unusual you are. _~~You're special. You're different, and that makes you better than them.~~_ “But really, anything between blue and green works. It's an imprecise shade.” Your eyes drift involuntarily to his hoodie. “I've recently started warming up more to orange, too.”

“orange is a great color,” he agrees, “but i like blue better. ...hang on, was that another pun?”

“Huh?”

“‘warming’ up. like warm colors?”

Pfft. Wow, you'd completely missed that. “It is now.”

“guess i set myself up for that one.” Papyrus ruefully scratches the back of his skull. “so. you’re a college graduate, huh? that’s pretty impressive.”

“Not really.” You swirl your water with the straw, watching the ice cubes whirl around. “I dunno how the monster school system works, but, up here, practically everyone goes to college. Graduating isn't anything all that special.”

“maybe not, but i think you're selling yourself too short. that’s, what, four years of your life you spent sitting at a desk?”

“Well, seventeen, if you count the rest of the time I spent in school…”

“even more impressive.” His expression is warm, and he meets your gaze evenly. You can't look away. It's like you're caught in the gravity of his eyes. “you’re really cool. y’know that?”

Later on, you'll remember this moment in the comfort of your room, red and squealing like a cartoon train whistle. Right now, though, his phrase barely even registers. You just kind of stare blankly into his eye sockets.

Then he chuckles quietly, and it's like a spell is broken. “so, anyway. what’d you go to school for, then?”

“Huh? Oh. Um, just liberal arts. It’ll never get me a job, I know, but there wasn't exactly a voice acting program.”

“voice acting?” He wasn't exactly uninterested before, but Papyrus definitely perks up at that. “like, for anime?”

You give him an embarrassed shrug. “I guess? It was one of the things that got me through some hard times when I was younger, and I've always had a thing for magic and fantasy. Um, not that I'm saying magic is made up or anything? Just that we thought it was impossible until Barrierfall, and, well, humans still can't do it, so.” He's nodding understandingly, not sneaking glances at his phone or staring at the wall, so you risk continuing. “People kept telling me that the best way to be part of a fairy tale was to write my own, but when you're working behind the curtain, everything just feels fake. Voice acting’s the closest thing I could think of to being the character without seeing how artificial the world is.”

“makes sense.”

You've warmed to your topic, now, words falling straight out of your mouth without waiting for much input from your brain. “Plus, I mean, I love acting, but it's not as great in meatspace, since you can't go back and edit what you say. Mostly, I just like talking, I think. There's something comforting about feeling the buzz of my voice in my throat or ears. That's probably why I sing so much, too.”

“huh. you sing?”

Dammit, you didn't mean to talk so much! But… he sounds interested. Excited, even. You give him an embarrassed smile, sinking back down in your chair from where you'd risen. “Well, not professionally or anything. I'm not that good. But, yeah, a little.”

He leans forward, advancing where you've retreated, re-shortening the distance between you. “you don't have to if you don't wanna, but would you? sing something for me, i mean.”

Something thrills in you at the idea, but you're in public. People could hear you, and then what? Still, the only other customer in the café had quietly left as you and Papyrus sat down, so there isn't anyone within easy listening distance.

 _But that's weird_, your anxiety informs you. _People don't do that. Not in public, not at all. Nobody wants to hear you, so just shut up already._

You flip it the bird for the second time today and begin the process of picking a song.

It has to be something you know, obviously, something you can sing. Nothing you're embarrassed about, either. (Yeah, you're not about to sing your crush those songs from seventh grade.) And the melody and lyrics should suit your voice and personality, without sounding ostentatious or moody. Something playful, maybe. Light.

“Okay,” you say at last, “I think I've got one.”

You start expecting to sing just the first verse, figuring a small demo is all he'd asked for. But he stays patiently engaged and smiling at you the whole time, and before you know it, you've sung the whole thing.

There's a pause when you're done, a stillness to the air. Your brief burst of confidence fades, leaving you uneasy in the silence, and you quickly break it. “‘Course, I couldn't do the harmony at the end by myself, but-”

“nah, i thought it was great.” He grins at you. “‘s a weird little song, but i liked it. you did great.”

Shyly, you thank him. You feel… exfoliated, somehow, like a rough patch of callousness has been scraped away, leaving you soft and raw and exposed to the warm caress of sunlight. It's a nice feeling.

It'll probably only last for a few hours, you know, so you luxuriate in it. Things don't have to last to be enjoyable right now.

(But you wouldn't mind staying like this forever.)

Dreamlike, you stand when he does. You don't know when the bill got here, but it's signed and there are two folds of money on the table. The host waves at you as you leave (maybe it has something to do with the size of the tip Papyrus left?), and the afternoon sky is blue, blue, blue.

This would be an excellent time to tell him how you feel, you realize, but as you open your mouth, he's already talking.

“oh, right! i was gonna say, sans wanted me to tell you that he's having a dinner party tomorrow. he wanted to know if you were free.”

Shoot. That's gonna be a whole ‘nother bucket of worms.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's get this dinner party started.

Yep. The carpets here are still really ugly. And has that water stain in the corner gotten bigger, or is it just you?

Ugh, whatever. You’re just stalling at this point. Taking a deep breath, you steel your nerves and rap lightly at the door.

Except, as soon as your fist touches the metal, the door swings open. Blocking the way is a fish monster, looking like she’d much rather it had flown open instead. “So, you’re the human I’ve heard so much about,” she says, settling down to lean against the doorway in a way that’s probably supposed to look casual. “You actually showed up, huh?”

You dart a glance at your feet, obviously planted in front of the door, and then back up. “Um. Yes?”

She grins and pats you on the back. “Nice.”

Okay?

The two of you stare at each other for a few seconds, until someone calls from inside. “Is that the human? Ugh, Dynie, I told you to wait -”

“C’mon, Alphys, I’m sure they’re fine,” the fish lady shouts back, brushing her ponytail over her shoulder as a yellow lizard in a tank top comes into view. “My cameras would’ve picked up something by now if they were some kind of assassin.”

Your confusion must bleed through to your expression, because suddenly she’s looming over you, eyes vanishing behind the glare on her glasses. Wow, you thought that only happened in anime! “You got some kinda _problem_ with that?”

A skeletal pair of hands pushes her out of the doorframe before you can answer that. “UNDYNE, STOP FREAKING OUT OUR GUEST! AND WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT CAMERAS IN THE HOUSE?”

The bravado in her voice evaporates immediately as she vanishes from your line of sight. “I- D-didn’t you say it was fine as l-long as I kept them to the c-common areas?”

“NO, I SAID IT WAS FINE AS LONG AS YOU WEREN’T CREEPY ABOUT IT!!” Sans huffs, but gives you a reassuring grin and waves you in. “ANYWAY, HELLO, NEIGHBOR-HUMAN! I AM SO GLAD YOU WERE ABLE TO MAKE IT TONIGHT!”

“‘Course I’d come, Sans. You and Papyrus are, like, my only friends.” Wait, did that come off too pityingly? Quick, better downplay it. “B-besides, I’ve always wanted to go to a dinner party! They always sounded so glamorous.”

Papyrus shrugs from the couch. “if you think hamburgers are glamorous, i guess. also, hey.”

Hamburgers? Oh, phew, something you can eat. Well, mostly. You’d better ask if they have cheese. Still, it’s reassuring to know you won’t have to turn down their food, and that plus Papyrus’s lackluster greeting brings a smile to your face. “Hi, lazybones. Not even gonna get up to tell me hi?” 

“nah, too much work.” You roll your eyes, and he laughs, laboriously pulling himself to his feet and stooping to give you a quick one-armed hug that leaves you blushing. “good to see ya, kitten. have you been introduced to alphys and undyne yet?”

“Um. Not really?”

“Oh! Sorry.” The lizard, who’s been glancing knowingly between you and Papyrus, smiles sheepishly and offers her hand. When you take it, she gives it a firm pump that leaves your fingers feeling squished. “Captain Alphys.”

“Captain?”

“of the royal guard!” Sans is doing that almost-vibrating thing again, eyes big and starry. “she’s super cool and super strong and knows a ton about fighting, and she was my sensei in the esteemed arts of human catching, puzzle making, and cooking!”

Alphys’s scales are looking a little red at all the praise, but she takes it well, grinning as she reaches down to noogie the little skeleton. Sans ducks out from under her arm, yelping, “PLEASE DON’T NOOGIE THE SKELETON!” as he goes.

Alphys laughs and chases after him, faster than you’d expect from a chubby lizard. “You bet I’m gonna noogie you!”

You watch them go, bemused. Papyrus still seems relaxed, so it’s probably a safe bet that this is a fairly common occurrence. Then again, he’d probably still have that lazy grin on even as the house burned down around his ears - if he had any, you guess. Wait, hang on - “The Captain of the Royal Guard, huh? This wouldn’t happen to be the same one that burnt down her house a bunch of times somehow, would it?”

Papyrus just raises an eyebrow at you.

“Thanks, you’re a ginormous help,” you deadpan.

Undyne laughs, coming to sit on the arm of a nearby chair. “That’s Papyrus for ya.”

“Can’t argue with that,” you agree.

There’s a bit of an awkward silence, as Papyrus slouches against the wall and you and Undyne sweat over deciding the next conversation topic. Luckily, Sans pokes his head back in before too long. “ARE YOU THREE EVER GOING TO COME EAT, OR SHOULD ALPHYS AND I FINISH ALL THE BURGERS OURSELVES?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confused about the hamburgers? I saw the idea in goodygoody19's fic, [Would That Make You Sad?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7148249/chapters/16230368), and thought it made more sense for this version of Swap!Sans than tacos. Chapter 7 has been edited accordingly - the emojis by Sans's name are now a hamburger, a rocket ship, and a skull and crossbones.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone sits down and prepares to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good thing about short chapters is you get a lot of them. Bad thing about short chapters is that it's kinda hard to write a summary when nothing much happens.
> 
> No worries, we'll be getting to the confession soon. ;3
> 
> (This chapter is dedicated to my zucchinis, who are the reason it's 200% gayer than planned.)

Everyone finds a spot to sit. Alphys and Sans have already claimed the seats at the island — Alphys because of some back problems she apparently has, and Sans because it's his apartment and Papyrus doesn't care enough to bother. Undyne mumbles something under her breath about facing danger head-on and perches on Alphys’s lap, red in the face. When Alphys leans up to smooch her, her earfins flare up. It's so cute, you can't help but smile.

“Isn’t my girlfriend adorable?” Alphys stage-whispers, grinning.

Undyne groans, burying her crimson face in her girlfriend’s shoulder. “S-screw you guys! I’m not adorable, I'm m-manly as heck!”

“She’s a little tsundere,” Alphys explains with a giggle, cutting off Undyne’s protests with another smooch.

You bring your hands to your cheeks, overcome by cuteness. Somewhere, angels with unnaturally dyed hair are singing about how much they ship this couple. You have been blessed.

“WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT SURPASSING MY CUTENESS METER?” Sans scolds them. “IN MY OWN HOUSE, NONETHELESS!” He’s pouting. “HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BE THE CUTEST ONE IN THE ROOM WHEN YOU TWO ARE DOING… THAT?!”

“Can’t handle it, punk?” Undyne retorts, fins flaring. 

Alphys laughs. “Maybe we should add cute stamina to your training regimen, Sans,” she teases. “Up your tolerance, and raise your max levels while we’re at it.”

“HM…” He looks like he’s actually considering it. “MY CUTENESS LEVELS ARE ALREADY PRETTY HIGH! I DON’T THINK THE WORLD WOULD BE ABLE TO HANDLE IT IF I WERE ANY CUTER.”

“You're probably right,” Alphys snorts.

Undyne peeks over her shoulder, grinning evilly. “Bet I know who _would_ be able to handle it, though…”

Is it just your imagination, or did a hint of blue just color Sans’s cheekbones?

He coughs, jumping to his feet. “T-THAT ASIDE! I! AM GOING TO GET OUT THE TOPPINGS! EVERYONE CAN HELP THEMSELVES!”

Okay, that was an obvious redirection, so, yeah, he was probably blushing. You wonder who the lucky girl is, then quickly correct that to “the lucky _person_ ”. Sheesh, compulsory heterosexuality is hard to unlearn.

Shaking your head, and reminding yourself that it's really none of your business (and also brushing aside a brief flare of jealousy), you follow Sans into the kitchen area, taking the plate he hands you and grabbing a patty and a bun. Curiously, none of the others have gotten up yet. They're all just… staring. It's kind of unsettling, to be honest, and you take a surreptitious look at the underside of the burger, making sure it isn't some kind of bug meat or whatever. 

Someone snickers quietly. You attempt to ignore it.

There is, in fact, cheese. American, even. You politely accept the slice of it that Sans claps over your patty when you ask for one, and even more politely do not scrunch up your nose at its bright coloration. You've had yellow cheese plenty of times. It won't kill you, though you'll have to be careful about how much you eat today. It is not a good day for cheese.

Carefully, you tear off the corners and stack them on the side of your plate. Now you have a circle of cheese, just large enough to cover the patty. Maybe that'll help.

(It probably won't. But it makes you feel better to have tried.)

The others watch your strange rituals, confused. “...WOULD YOU LIKE ANY MORE TOPPINGS?” Sans finally asks.

“Nope, I'm good, thanks.” You flash him a quick smile, plopping the other bun on top and retreating to the couch. There really isn't anywhere else to sit, with the island occupied and Papyrus sprawled out over the arm, so you just kind of shimmy yourself onto the top of the couch.

Alphys eyes your position warily. You shrug. “I like to feel tall.”

Undyne snorts. You're really not sure what to make of that.

Finally, everyone is served. Maybe it was your imagination, but it really seemed like there was some kind of air of resignation about the whole thing, like inmates lining up to be fed at the prison cafeteria. And, even though you got served first, everyone still seems to be waiting on you to take the first bite. It's possible it's a guest thing, but you're getting crazy strong practical joke vibes. You're feeling more than a little apprehensive about your first bite, and that’s _before_ you remember Papyrus’s comment about how bad his bro’s cooking is from the day you first met.

Sans, however, seems completely unaware of the tension in the air. He's staring eagerly at you from by the stove, where he's insisted on standing so as to better serve anyone’s beverage/topping needs. His eyes are doing that sparkly thing they do when he's really excited about something, and it's obvious that what he's really excited about right now is seeing your reaction to his cooking.

You can't disappoint a face like that. You just can't.

Preparing your tastebuds as best you can, you lift the burger to your mouth and take a bite.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some eating finally occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a bit of a mix-up with one of my other fics, if you happened to briefly see a very confusing Chapter 16 pop up. It's fixed now. Sorry about that! ^^'

As soon as the burger comes into contact with your tongue, it starts dissolving. You swallow, and before it’s halfway down your throat, it’s disappeared completely, leaving only a faint flavor of burger-ness on the back of your tongue.

You stare incredulously at the burger in your hands. It looks completely normal — exactly like the kind you might get at a summer camp barbecue, complete with a small bite mark where you nibbled at an edge. You poke it. It doesn’t collapse under your finger, but when you poke it with your tongue, it dissolves a little, with a slight tingling sensation.

You risk another bite, this time paying closer attention to what’s going on in your mouth. Just like before, the food dissolves on contact, vanishing partway down your esophagus.

You are reminded strongly of a book you’ve read. It was a favorite of yours from when you were younger, about a girl who is a witch, and a very good one. At one point, she receives a necklace that is shaped, not like a horse, but like what a horse is.

The burger tastes exactly like that. 

(Except with a burger, and not with a horse.)

You look up, and everyone is staring at you. “well?” Papyrus prompts.

“What do you think, punk?”

“HOW IS IT?”

“It's indescribable,” you answer honestly. There's a smile pulling at your cheeks, and you may or may not be tearing up a little. “This is monster food, right?”

Sans crumples a little. “OH. YES. I- I DIDN’T EVEN THINK TO WARN YOU! YOU MUST THINK I'M SUCH AN AWFUL FRIEND- I KNOW IT’S QUITE THE SHOCK YOUR FIRST TIME-”

“No no no, it was wonderful!” You can't feel it in your stomach. You don't feel hungry, but it doesn't hurt. Your stomach doesn't hurt. It didn't hurt to eat. “It was- it was really, really great.”

Everyone else looks at each other, slightly alarmed. You're going to have to explain, aren't you?

“Okay,” you start, setting the plate down with a pat goodbye to the amazing miracle burger. “I've got this thing. It's called IBS, and basically what that means is, I told a bunch of doctors that I get a bunch of awful stomach aches pretty much all the time for no reason at all, and they tried a bunch of tests, got nothing, and slapped me with a diagnosis that just means, ‘yeah, what they said.’ So I get a bunch of awful stomach aches pretty much all the time for no reason at all, and no one knows why. Follow me so far?”

Everyone nods.

“Great. So, because I get a ton of awful stomach aches, and no one knows why, I make up rules for myself. I can't have this kind of food right now, but maybe later that’ll be fine and something else will be off limits. There's no way to tell whether these things are actual rules, or just stuff I'm making up to help myself feel like I've got any kind of control over whether or not I'm going to be in tons of pain later. Get it?”

“izzat why you tore off your cheese corners?” Papyrus asks, nodding at the little stack on the corner of your plate.

You throw a finger gun at him. “Bingo.”

Sans’s eyes are wide with sympathy. “SO… YOU JUST HURT A LOT? FOR NO REASON AT ALL?”

“And there's nothing you can do about it?” Alphys looks angry, eyes pinched at the corners. “Man, that sucks. I don't even know what I'd do.”

“D-do you have any safe foods?” Undyne asks, brow furrowed.

“Yep, yep, and nope.” You shrug, grinning wryly. You've been dealing with this for a long time now, but it still really sucks. “Nothing's safe. Even something that might be fine today could bite me tomorrow… or even in a few minutes. Or maybe I'm just making everything up and it has nothing to do with what I eat at all, and I'm just making life harder for myself with all these rules. There's not much way to tell.”

Papyrus nods. “i get it. monster food dissolves into energy immediately.”

Undyne picks up his train of thought. “So… our food is the f-first food you've ever h-had that m-might be completely, one h-hundred percent safe?”

“Exactly!” You're beaming, overcome with optimism. You'll probably never be totally free of the pain, but… “It's all made of the same stuff, but it all tastes completely different, right? So I don't have to limit myself to, like, four foods! I can have anything I want, whenever I want, without having to worry about consequences!”

Sans pops in front of you and wraps you in a big hug. “THAT’S AMAZING! NEIGHBOR, I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU!”

“And _your burgers_ were my first,” you remind him, squeezing back. “That's a pretty big deal for me!”

Alphys stands, shifting Undyne into her arms so the taller monster doesn't fall. “We’re gonna go buy you _all the monster food you could ever want_ ,” she says gruffly, and heads for the door.

“W-wait, I can't let you do that,” you protest, leaning back out of Sans’s arms to no avail. “You shouldn't-”

Sans pats your cheek comfortingly. “MONSTER FOOD IS PRETTY CHEAP,” he informs you, “SO DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT! WE ALL WANT YOU TO BE ABLE TO EAT WHATEVER YOU WANT.”

“plus, monster food doesn't spoil,” Papyrus adds, resting an arm over your knee.

“You’re actually d-doing us a favor.” Undyne smiles shyly at you from Alphys’s arms. “T-toriel’s been looking for more ways to persuade your government that m-monster food is useful. If you really wanna repay us, let a reporter interview you on how much it's made a difference or whatever!”

You nod slowly. Yeah, you can do that.

Sans picks up your plate and pushes it into your hands. “EAT.”

So you do.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, stuff finally happens this chapter!

Before you know it, the burgers are gone. It's not often you can manage to finish even one burger, let alone the three more that somehow find their way to your plate, and you feel like you could keep on eating forever. Is this how normal people feel? Like they can eat however much they want of whatever they want, with no repercussions? It's wonderful and dizzying and… well, magical.

You're never eating regular food again.

After the fourth burger, you stop yourself, not wanting to keep the brothers waiting while you pig out. Sans asks three more times if you're sure you don't want any more, then insists on clearing the table by himself.

“Sure you don't want any help with that?” you try, hovering awkwardly behind his shoulder as he bustles about the kitchen. “I don't mind washing dishes.”

He shakes his head. “NOPE! THE FANTASTIC SANS IS MORE THAN CAPABLE OF CLEARING THE DISHES BY HIMSELF. YOU SHOULD JUST RELAX – YOU’RE THE GUEST!”

“I feel bad not doing anything, though… You might have invited me over, but I still ate your food and contributed to the mess. It's only fair for me to do my part.”

“you don't hafta repay us for suffering your presence, kitten,” Papyrus says drily from the couch. You wince, shying away from the intensity of his gaze, and he continues, “we’re glad to have you. really. ‘sides, sans is picky about how he likes stuff put away. you’re probably better off out of the way, anyway.”

Sans shoots his brother a glare over his shoulder, but there's no bite to it. You get the feeling this is a well-worn argument. “I AM NOT PICKY! I AM MERELY PRECISE. EVERYTHING HAS ITS PLACE, AND IT SHOULD STAY THERE, NOT SCATTERED INDISCRIMINATELY ON WHATEVER SHELF YOU’VE DECIDED IS CLOSEST!”

“of course, everything’s got its place. right. that's why i need a map and headlamp to find anything on your half of the room,” Papyrus deadpans.

“Whoa, wait, Sans’s side is messy?” Somehow, this possibility never occurred to you. 

The skeleton in question sniffs. “IT’S NOT MY FAULT THAT NOT EVERYONE CAN COMPREHEND MY ADVANCED SORTING SYSTEM.”

So it's probably a disaster zone. That's hilarious.

Grinning at the look on your face, Papyrus waves a hand towards the bedroom. “go ahead, see for yourself.”

“Don't mind if I do.”

The layout is pretty much the same as your own, so you find the bedroom easily. The top of the door is covered in magazine clippings of galaxies, a drawing Sans obviously did of himself, and a large strip of caution tape proclaiming that neither boys nor girls are allowed. (Well, that's alright, then, because you're not either.) Everything has been meticulously trimmed to divide the door evenly in half, but Sans probably didn't need to have bothered. Papyrus’s half is entirely blank, aside from one of those wooden letters at the top. It's not even a ‘P’. Was he too lazy to search for the right one and just settled for what he got? Wow, that's a new low.

You push the door open. But not all the way, because there's a pile of stuff there. “Welp.” You stifle a snicker. Looks like Sans is off to a great start.

Not that you really have any room to judge. You still haven't finished unpacking from when you first moved here.

Vowing yet again to finally get that squared away, you pick your way into the room and look around. Just as promised, Sans’s side could make a pack rat envious, but it's obvious everything here is well loved. And he's right – there's definitely some kind of organization, even if you can't figure out why his action figures are sitting on the bookshelf when he has a nearly-empty table and three neat stacks of books by his bed. (Which is shaped like a spaceship. Cool!)

Sans’s possessions are a weird mix between juvenile and mature, which isn't actually that much of a surprise. The books range from _Hide and Seek with Sandy Squirrel_ to _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ to twenty-five issues of _Popular Mechanics_ and _Advanced Puzzle Construction: First Edition_. Under the whimsical pirate flag on the wall is a complicated-looking treatise on why Sans thinks that humans are descended from skeletons. When you bump into the mouse attached to the ancient monitor on the desk, the screen that comes up is a social media website, where it looks like Sans’s account has… negative two followers? “That's kind of impressive, in its own way. No idea how you managed it, though,” you murmur, taken aback.

By contrast, Papyrus’s side of the room is practically empty. He doesn't even have a bed, just a mattress on the floor, and his sheets are all tangled up into a big, unusable ball. Where does this poor guy even sleep?

There's only one closet in the room, and you're curious how they've split it up, so you push down your worries about invading their privacy and open it, trying to work out a pun for “skeletons in their closet”. Maybe if they were repairing someone’s house or something? Like, the guy comes home early and tells his wife, “There are skeletons in my closet!”

“No, Harold, those are just the repairmen,” she’d say, voice flat. “Don't you remember? You invited them over to take a look at that cracked plaster.”

Nah, that's way too much work for a mediocre punchline. Besides, there's no way Papyrus would end up doing physical labor. Their repair work would consist of Sans attempting to fix the problem while Papyrus took a nap and “oversaw the work”.

Right. The closet.

...You’re not sure whose clothes are whose, but you're pretty sure this closet is entirely filled with Sans’s stuff. Except maybe the pile of socks on the floor, and the gray hoodie at the back.

Okay, you need to give this skeleton some tchotchkes or something, because this is just depressing.

Shaking your head and vowing to treat him as best you can, you shut the door behind yourself and check your watch. “It's getting kinda late,” you announce, stepping back into the common room. “I think maybe I should be getting back.”

“‘course, ‘course. didn’t mean to keep you so late,” Papyrus apologizes from the couch. (Has he even moved?)

You wave it off with a smile. “Don't worry about it. I like spending time with you guys, and, anyway, it's not like I've got much else to do with my life.”

“I’LL WALK YOU BACK!” Sans volunteers, springing up from the couch and bouncing on his toes. With a winsome smile, he grabs your hand and pulls you to the door. “I’LL BE BACK IN A BIT, PAPPY. DON’T DO ANYTHING I WOULDN’T DO!”

Papyrus’s eyes train wryly from his brother, to where he’s pouring chip crumbs into his mouth right from the bag, and you stifle a chuckle. Still, Papyrus gives a wordless thumb’s-up and settles back to finish the chips. He winks when you meet his eyes.

Why do you think this loser is so darn cool, again?

It's only the work of a few steps to make it to your door, but it still doesn't feel like this encounter is over yet. You give an awkward half-laugh and wave your free hand towards the door. “Well, this is me…”

Sans giggles. “NO, SILLY, YOU’RE OVER HERE!” He gives your hand a squeeze, and you snort, squeezing right back. (Though you're mindful of the hardness of his lack of skin.) 

Blue dusting lightly over his cheekbones, Sans looks away. “UM. SPEAKING OF YOU. AND WHERE YOU ARE. I ACTUALLY WANTED TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT THAT.”

Oh boy.

“HUMAN,” he begins, “LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT SOME COMPLEX FEELINGS.”

_Oh boy._

“FEELINGS LIKE... THE JOY OF FINDING ANOTHER BURGER LOVER. THE ADMIRATION FOR ANOTHER’S PUNNING SKULLS. ...THE DESIRE TO HAVE A COOL, SMART PERSON THINK YOU ARE COOL.”

_**Oh boy.** _

“THESE FEELINGS… THEY MUST BE WHAT YOU’RE FEELING RIGHT NOW!”

...What.

Sans smiles at you. You have the feeling you just got punk’d. “YOU LIKE MY BROTHER, DON’T YOU, HUMAN.”

“That speech was totally misleading,” you weakly argue. “Does Papyrus even like burgers? I thought that was your thing.”

“IT WAS METAPHORICAL,” Sans explains proudly. You get the feeling he's put a lot of thought into this. “BUT! YOU DID NOT DENY MY OBSERVATION!! WHICH MEANS…”

“Hey, hey, keep it down,” you say, glancing around to make sure no one overheard this sudden, unexpected inquisition. “But… yeah. I think I do.”

He bounces, grinning widely and crowing, “I KNEW IT!”

“What gave it away?” you wonder, curious.

“OH, I HAD MY SUSPICIONS IMMEDIATELY. BUT WHAT REALLY GAVE IT AWAY WAS CHARA! THAT HUMAN HAS A NOSE FOR SHIPPING LIKE NO OTHER.” He taps the side of his nasal ridge. “AND, THEY’RE AWFULLY PROTECTIVE OF THE PEOPLE THEY LOVE. WITH HOW DIFFICULT THEY WERE IN THE TEA STORE, IT IS OBVIOUS THAT THEY SEE YOU AND PAPPY AS A VERY VIABLE COUPLE!”

Huh. So they really were acting the bratty younger sibling, then. “So… you approve?”

“OF YOU DATING MY BROTHER?... OF COURSE.” Sans’s smile is a little smaller, now. More serious. “I THINK YOU’RE GOOD FOR HIM, HUMAN. YOU TWO ARE AN EXCELLENT MATCH! AND WHATEVER MAKES HIM HAPPY IS A GOOD THING IN MY BOOK.”

“Oh, good,” you breathe. “I was worried-”

“-BUT!!” Sans interrupts, leaning a little closer. That inch he has on you is suddenly a little intimidating (haha, intimi-dating), and the glint of his eyes is a little… unfriendly. “IF YOU HURT MY BROTHER… WELL. LET’S JUST SAY, YOU WON’T HAVE THE BEST TIME.”

So this is what it's like to be on the receiving end of a shovel talk. You get the feeling they're more effective when given by monsters, even when those monsters are as cute as Sans. You snap off a slightly intimidated salute. “Heard and received, sir.”

“GREAT!” Suddenly, he's right back to his usual cheery self. He gives you a bright grin. “BUT I’M SURE YOU’LL BE FINE. YOU HAVE A GOOD SOUL, HUMAN. BUT, IF YOU WANT TO READ THROUGH MY DATING HANDBOOK JUST IN CASE, YOU CAN BORROW IT ANY TIME.”

Oh god, what if monster dating customs are different than human ones? You give Sans a weak smile. “I think I'd like that. Thanks.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dating... start?

True to his word, Sans drops off his dating handbook the very next morning before his run. Of course, that means you only stumble over it hours later, but that still gives you plenty of time to peruse it before dinner.

To your surprise, most of what it says is pretty obvious to you. Stuff like “wear nice clothes to show you care!” and “remember to make time for each other” isn't exactly news. Then again, it also focuses extensively on how to read something called the “Dating HUD”, which is definitely not something you ever thought you'd read in a dating handbook. What on Earth do they mean by “press C”?

What if that's a magic thing? What if you can't do it, and Papyrus takes your confession for something else and gets embarrassed or upset? What if-

No. Shh, calm down. Papyrus is an understanding guy. Even if you did mess up, you're sure he wouldn't freak out before giving you a chance to explain yourself. If humans can't do it, it'd be a jerk move to get pissed at you for not doing something you're incapable of. You'll be fine.

Anyway, it's fascinating to see the little differences between your cultures. Maybe if you and Papyrus end up getting together, you'll be able to learn even more.

Oh, look, your cheeks are heating up again.

With the book read, your last excuse for waiting is gone. You grab your phone and, before you can reconsider, tap out a quick message.

  
**You:**  
Hey, Papyrus, are you free today? I've got something I want to talk to you about.

**papyrus:**  
shoot.

Ugh, no, that wasn't what you meant! Damnit, you should've been clearer. Now you'll look like an idiot when you clarify.

  
**You:**  
I'd rather do it in person. ^^’ Can you come over?

**papyrus:**  
now?

  
**You:**  
Is now a good time for you?

The three dots jump and dance for a bit, then disappear. You're trying to decide whether to be relieved or disappointed when there's a light knock on your door.

“Uh, who is it?” you call, scrambling to your feet.

There's a little pause, then — “really, kitten?”

Oh. Y’know, in retrospect, that was probably pretty obvious.

You've taken three steps to the door when you suddenly remember that you're still in pajamas. “Gimme a sec,” you yelp. “I’ll be right there, but —”

Papyrus laughs. “take your time.” There's a slow slide as he sinks to the floor. “i’m not goin’ anywhere. that'd mean effort.”

“Oh, boy, do I feel you there.”

Now you just need to pick out your outfit. Nice clothes to show you care, but not too nice — you really don't want to scare him off. Dark jeans first, then. Denim goes with everything, but it also dresses down the outfit, and the darker shade will make it a little more nice. After that… a pretty blouse, with a leather jacket over it? No, no, too dressy. You're just going to sit and talk on the couch, not go out anywhere. Okay, um, trade out the blouse for a graphic tee, then throw a flannel shirt over it. Hats? Jewelry? That beanie you've got is perfect, but then again, you don't want to look _too_ put together. You'll just put in a sparkly earring and be done with it.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and frown. Ugh, your smile always looks so gross. Giving your head a quick shake, you rush to the door. No time to worry about it now.

“Hey,” you pant, pulling open the door with a smile that you hope doesn't look too false. “Sorry about that. Um, come in?”

“sure thing.” The glance he gives you on the way in is evaluative, and you have to resist the urge to wilt. “what’s got you in such a tizzy today?”

_You do_ , you want to say, but, yeah, no, not doing that. Instead you give a little laugh and plop down on the couch, cheeks reddening slightly when he sits down right next to you. “So. I just wanted to say thaaaat I think you're really cool” - his eye sockets are widening - “and I like you a lot” - that's definitely a note of panic in his face, now, oh no, but you've come too far to stop now - “and I really enjoy spending time with you. So I just wanted to ask if maybe you wanted to date.” A solid finish on your part; you're proud of how you managed to suppress the question mark at the end of that last sentence. 

But Papyrus is looking antsy and uncomfortable, so you smile reassuringly and start on the next section of your little confessionary speech. “If you don't want to, that's completely fine. I totally get it, okay? I just felt weird about not letting you know. We can still be friends… if you want to, I mean.” Less solid, but it got Papyrus to relax a little, so you'll settle.

He's still fidgeting with his phalanges, though, subtly picking at the cracks in his bones. Would it be weird to cover his hands with yours? That looks like it should hurt.

He takes a breath, stilling his hands and dragging his usual grin back to his face. “guess it’s time for me to express my feelings, huh? i, uh...” He forces a laugh. “boy, is it hot in here? or is it just me?”

Man, for such a chill guy, he’s kind of awkward at this. “No need to force yourself, Papyrus,” you tell him. “You’re not gonna hurt my feelings.”

He sighs, bringing a hand up to rub at his forehead. “shoot. okay.” Another breath. “look, sweetheart. i’m sorry, but… i don’t like you the way you like me. ...romantically, i mean.”

Yeah, you’d kind of figured that much out already.

“i mean…” He meets your eyes, his foot beginning to tap anxiously at the floor. “i tried to. pretty hard, actually. as soon as sans told me the cute human next door might have a crush on me, i thought, hey, this is perfect. like i’m in some kinda romance novel or something, right?”

“Same,” you confess, laughing a little. “I was like, hey, cute skeletons move in next door? What am I, some kind of fanfic protagonist?”

“heh.” He seems a little more at ease, now, but that foot’s still tapping a nervous tattoo on your ugly carpet. “i thought, by the time you confessed, i’dve developed something, too. feelings’d blossom forth, and i’d be able to match your passion for me or whatever.” The grin on his face turns bitter, and your heart clenches. That expression is too familiar. “but nothing’s any different, huh? i still don’t feel anything.”

And there it is. “Hey, Pap?” You have a hunch, but you’ve still gotta ask. “Do monsters ever talk about orientations?”

“like, north, south, east, west?”

Pff. “No, like romantic orientations. Like what kinds of people you fall in love with?”

He averts his eyes. “everyone falls in love with somebody. why?”

Huh. That’s a strange way of putting it. This isn’t related to your point, but now you’re curious. “So, it’s totally normal if a guy likes a guy or a girl likes a girl?”

“sure. people fall in love with all kinds of people all the time.”

So, it sounds like the default orientation for monsters is pan? Strange, but that makes sense. “What about people who don’t fall in love with anyone?”

He snorts. “that’s not a thing. everyone falls in love at some point, right? ‘s what makes us monsters. hope, love, and compassion.”

Bam, and there it is. “Except you, right?”

A shrug. “guess so. i’m just a late bloomer, i guess.”

Bam. Carefully, you say, “There are a lot of people who never do, y’know. Up here, we call them aromantic.”

“...aromantic?” You’ve definitely got his attention. For a second, at least. “well, for _humans_ , that makes sense. no offense, but you guys don’t need love. monsters aren’t like that.”

Okay, that’s kind of fair, but also, ouch. “How would you know? Does it seem like anyone would come out and say, ‘Hey, guys, guess what? I’ve never fallen in love with anyone and I don’t think I ever will!’?”

He reels back a little, and you soften your tone. “Look, Paps, I get it. I’m what’s called gray-romantic - I almost never fall in love with people, and when I do, I have a hard time telling. I’ve had people break up with me because they just didn’t think they could stand being around someone who didn’t, or couldn’t, love them back. I’ve spent a long time thinking I was broken, or missing something important, or just a late bloomer, because I never had a crush on anyone before. I’ve dated people I knew I’d never like just to make them feel better, so I wouldn’t have to disappoint them by being my broken self. So I know what it’s like, okay? And if you don’t want to date me, I understand. I don’t want to put you in that position.”

He’s picking at his phalanges again, staring at the cracks instead of having to meet your eyes. You scooch a little closer to him and rest a hand on his shoulder.

“But you don’t need to love me to date me. We can hold hands and eat lunch together without having to be constantly making out, y’know? We can just be friends who snuggle sometimes, or whatever you feel comfortable with. Or we can just keep things the way they are.”

He opens his mouth, then shakes his head. “i- get what you’re saying, but. _dating…_ ”

“Sounds like a little too much?” you guess. “Yeah, I get you. It’s got a lot of connotations.” Should you bring it up, or would that be going too far? You don’t want to pressure him, but there are options here that he should know about, and also you can’t shut up. You can apologize later if it goes wrong, you guess. “You know, people who are aromantic… they have this thing called a queer-platonic partnership. A QPP, for short. It’s for friends who want to do stuff together that society says is for romantic partners only. It’s like friend-dating! Dating without the romance. Just add water.”

“yeah?” Oh, he definitely looks interested. Your inner self is fist-pumping and doing a stupid little dance. “so, if we were in a qpp, we could do date stuff without having to date?”

“Pretty much!”

It looks like you have him for a second, but then his face hardens and he stands. “you don’t want this. y’don’t know a thing about me.”

You’re tempted to stand, too, but it’s not like it’d do much to narrow the height difference. Instead you just shrug, trying to keep the light grin from slipping off your face. “You don’t know much about me, either. That’s what this’d be for - to get to know each other a little better.”

The last of his reservations seems to crumble, and he collapses back down next to you. “...yeah. ‘kay.”

“You want to do it?”

“yeah.”

“You’re gonna be my zucchini?”

“your _what_?”

Oh, right. You always forget how silly that sounds to other people. “My zucchini! The other person in the QPP with me!”

“okay, sure, but. zucchini?”

“The people who came up with it just kind of shrugged and said, ‘why not?’” you inform him, pleased to be able to show off this useless knowledge. “I think it’s funny.”

“i mean, maybe, but i think spaghetti would be better.”

“But that’s not what it’s called!”

“hey, why not?”

“Because it’s not right!”

“why not?”

“...Cause it’s not!”

“heh.” He leans back, throwing an arm over your shoulders and then freezing when he realizes what he just did, but he relaxes when you snuggle in closer to his side. “i’m gonna come up with so many dumb pet names for you.”

“Nooo.” Dumb pet names are your only weakness! Well, one of several, but -

“my spaghetti. my little noodle.”

“Nooooo.”

“my angel hair.”

“Nooooooo.”

“my cuoricini.”

“Noooo!” You’re laughing, now, barely able to get the word out. “What shape even is that?”

His cheekbones flush salmon, and he turns away. “...soul shapes.”

Huh? Oh, okay, like hearts- “Oooooooohhhhhhh my gosh.”

The blush deepens, becoming more orangey and stretching to cover his nasal ridge. “ _platonic_ soul shapes,” he emphasizes. “just- you know. i made a list when i was younger…”

“Of dumb pet names to call your signif when you grew up? Oh my gosh, Pap, that’s adorable!” And also kind of heartbreaking, that he had this whole list he knew he was never going to get to use, but you get that. You went through that too. But it is possible to have a happy life with someone who enjoys spending time with you without having to love them. It’s possible to get married to someone who loves you and knows you can’t love them and loves you anyway, and it’s possible to be satisfied and happy and loved without getting married or even dating at all. You know that now.

And you’re going to make damn sure Papyrus knows it, too.

Catlike, you bump your head against the side of his ribcage. A little rattle shakes its way through his bones in response, and then he’s bundling you into his lap so he can wrap his arms around your waist and rest his chin on the top of your head.

He’s still rattling a little, but it’s quiet. Comforting, like a happy purr. His bones put dull pressure on your skin, and you can feel the humming presence of his magic all around you.

It’s warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Props to my own spaghetti for letting me steal their Pap's nickname for his Reader. You should totally [go read their fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8173141), especially if you like pain, sadness, and dying. And also adorable fluff with a Classic!Pap who calls Reader his spaghetti.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean, it's not Halloween still?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this chapter the day before Halloween, sure I could finish it before Thanksgiving at the latest.
> 
> This is part one of what that chapter was supposed to be. But, hey, if people can have Christmas in July, I can have Halloween updates in December.
> 
> (Oh yeah, quick note: there is mention of sex in this chapter. It's very brief, though, and that 'no smut' tag is there to stay.)

You and Papyrus have been texting a lot, lately. And between the outdated memes he sends you as he explores the human internet and the puns you torture him with in response, you’ve managed to work out what you both are hoping to get out of this relationship.

 

He wants to not have to worry about boundaries, to be able to touch you without worrying about it being weird. He also confesses that he wants to spoil you a little. Not that he’s gonna put much effort into it, he reassures you, but he loves getting people stuff that he thinks will make them happy. And he wants to protect you, to make sure you’re happy and safe. You’d almost forgotten about your low HP, but apparently it hasn’t been far from Papyrus’s mind.

 

(How low is his own, though? The way Sans talked about it, you’re guessing it’s pretty low. 

 

You’ll just have to keep an eye on him, too.)

 

On the other hand, he’s still leery of traditional date material. “i wouldn’t expect any roses,” he warned you in the first few messages of negotiation. “i mean, maybe? but those come with expectations i don’t want ya to think i can fill.”

 

Which makes sense. It’s hard, being told all this stuff is just for lovey-dovey couples your whole life. But he doesn't want you to do anything special for him, either. Maybe some of that is discomfort with romantic ideas, but you get the feeling a big part of it is that he just doesn’t like having the tables turned on him - like being pampered is fine, but only if he’s the one doing the pampering. Maybe it’s a self-esteem thing? Or maybe he’s got some kind of big brother complex, where he can’t have anything nice for himself because he feels like he has to take care of Sans.

 

Either way, you can respect his feelings… but only up to a point. After all, you like giving things to people you like, too. And with all he does for other people, Pap deserves to be pampered a little, even if he doesn't think so.

 

Now, you? You want someone to snuggle and annoy with jokes, and maybe to tease a little with smooches and dumb pet names. (If you can say them without dying of embarrassment. Looks like Pap has the advantage there.) You also want someone you can trust to tell you when you mess up. It’s hard to tell when you’ve done something wrong, and unless you have that reassurance that he’ll tell you when you’ve gone too far or done too little, you’re just going to freak out about everything you say ever. Of course, that’ll probably happen anyway, but at least this way you have some kind of proof when you have to tell your head to shut up.

 

Boundary-wise, you’ve got a few, but nothing too major. Kissing is fine as long as it’s not on the mouth, but since your spaghetti (okay, it’s catchy; so sue you) doesn’t have lips, that shouldn’t be much of a problem.

 

(“Maybe you can show me how skeletons do kiss ;3” you’d sent him in a burst of flirtatious confidence. After a long wait, Papyrus had sent back an emoji without a mouth, and then quickly changed the subject.)

 

As for sex… you’re really not that interested. You kind of feel like it’d be better to get that out into the open, so that no miscommunications happen later, but you don’t think monsters even know what sex is. After all, the dating handbook Sans lent you didn’t say anything about it, and it’d be kind of anthropocentric to presume that beings made entirely of magic reproduce in the same way fleshy creatures do, let alone that they treat it the same way as humans. And if Pap doesn’t know most people take it as a given, there’s no reason to tell him that you don’t care if you have any, right?

 

You can practically feel the “This action will have consequences” banner hanging over your head. But nah, you don’t want to ruin that innocence for him. You’ll just have to deal with it later if it comes up.

 

With that out of the way, discussion turns to why there are have been so many naked skeletons in stores this month. Apparently, Chara hasn’t said anything about Halloween, preferring instead to watch the monsters debate the significance of pumpkins and shy away from the decorations. You have to admit that does sound pretty funny, but it’s incredibly obnoxious to keep an entire race in the dark because you think it’s funnier if they don’t know. So you explain what you can about the holiday. Chara will just have to deal with their amusement being called off early.

 

Papyrus sounds more relieved than anything when you finish. You guess it would be kind of a relief to finally understand why there are a bunch of naked plastic guys that kind of look like you everywhere. Sans, on the other hand, seems thrilled. Papyrus keeps having to relay questions to you, until you finally have to tell him to tell Sans to ask you himself. That seems to stem the flow.

 

Which is kind of strange, considering Sans’s earlier talkativeness. You haven’t gotten a text from him in a while.

 

Papyrus asks if you want to go trick-or-treating with everyone, and you happily agree. The last time you went trick-or-treating with friends was back in middle school, you think, and aside from… well, practically everything about those trips (distant laughter, biting cold, a heavy bucket full of nothing, boots on pavement, snow, a red house surrounded by dark trees, the pervasive knowledge that you don’t belong), you kind of miss them. It’d be good to go out in a big group again.

 

Especially if the group actually wants you there. Papyrus assures you everyone does, but you’re not sure you believe that. Either way, at least one person is excited that you’ll be joining them, and that’s more than enough reason to go.

 

Before you know it, your spaghetti is knocking at your door. Anticipation thrums in your rib cage. You can't wait to see what he's wearing!

 

“hey,” Papyrus greets you lazily. His sole concession to the occasion is a pair of Groucho Marx glasses taped over his skull. You don't know what you expected. “ready to head out?”

 

“As I'll ever be.” Hang on, though… something's missing. “Where's Sans?”

 

Papyrus shrugs. “went on ahead. said he wanted to help asgore with the decorations.”

 

“Huh. I thought he was going to magic us over there.”

 

“yeah, but it's a short walk. prob’ly wanted me to get the exercise.” He looks over at you, eyes tracing from your head to your toes. “speaking of short…”

 

You snort. “Wow, rude.”

 

“true, though. anyway, just wanted to say, uh. you look nice.” He rubs sheepishly at the back of his neck.

 

“Aw, thanks.” You brush some invisible dust off your sweater with a grin. “I'm supposed to be a mage, but I'm not sure anyone’ll get that. Hopefully the cloak can clue them in that it's a costume, at least.”

 

He looks a little taken aback. “a mage, huh?”

 

“As in, a gender-neutral magic user,” you clarify, suddenly wishing you'd rethought your costume plans. “I was thinking Harry Potter, not the people who trapped you guys down there. Oh man, is this insensitive? I don't want to offend anyone…”

 

“hey, don't worry about it.” He lays a comforting arm on your shoulder. “the war’s done, and we're all on the surface. just… if you could call it something other than a ‘mage’ costume, that might be good.”

 

“Yeah, okay. No prob.” Now you've just got to think of something else to call it. “Um… technically, ‘wizard’ and ‘witch’ are both gender neutral, but I don't want anyone who doesn't know that to presume my gender… ‘Magician’? ‘Thaumaturge’? ‘Sorcerer’? Nah, that's back to the gender problem…”

 

“go with ‘magician’,” he advises you.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“yep.”

 

“‘kay.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the most people you've been in a room with since college. And none of them are your species.
> 
> Then again, there's something delightfully ironic about monsters in Halloween costumes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'll be a few chapters yet, but we're coming up to the finish line for this story. Hey, if I plan things out, it's possible I could finish exactly on STH's anniversary!
> 
> I'm not counting on that, though. With my writing speed, the winter chapter(s) will probably end up coming out sometime in May.
> 
> Anyway, just because this story's finishing up doesn't mean I'm done with these characters. I'm planning on coming out with a sequel, focusing more on disconnected vignettes featuring Reader, the swap!bros, and everyone else. (Possibly even alternate universe shenanigans. Who knows?) Requests will be open, though there's no guarantee I'll take everything I get. So if you want to see sick days, festival episodes, vacations, and more, stick around! There's lots more where this came from. ;3

It turns out the walk really is a short one. Apparently, Asgore (the king of all monsters!) lives in an apartment not too far from your own. It looks more like a single house than your apartment complex, with luxurious-looking furniture you'd be willing to bet the king hauled up from the Underground himself, though it makes a strange picture with the discolored and stained walls and the way the front stoop seems to be crumbling. At least their carpeting has the sense to be just one color.

The apartment itself is totally decked out for the holidays. Spiders hang everywhere (though they skitter away when you try to investigate – that's gotta be some kind of programming, right?), and there are at least five jack o lanterns on display. 

Sans is just finishing with another one as you walk in.

“LIKE THIS?”

Chara hesitates, squinting, then nods, beginning to make some kind of motion with their fingers. Sign language?

“MWEH HEH HEH, OF COURSE! ANYTHING CARVED BY THE FANTASTIC SANS IS BOUND TO BE JUST AS GREAT!” His eyes brighten as he notices you, and, as Chara picks up the newly-carved pumpkin and leaves the room, Sans bounds over. “HELLO, NEIGHBOR FRIEND! HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!”

“Happy Halloween,” you grin. Gosh, he's so cute. “Pap told me you helped put the decorations up here. You did a great job!”

“AW, YOU THINK?” A hint of blue colors his cheekbones as he laughs. “IT WAS SIMPLE ENOUGH. YOU LOOK GOOD, BY THE WAY! WHAT ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO BE?”

“Thanks!” Okay, so he didn't know what you were dressing up as, but that's alright. You’re just starting to feel a little self-conscious about wearing this cloak around. “I'm a magician. And you're…?”

He does a little twirl, allowing the silvery skirt he’s wearing to flare out and catch the light. It looks almost blue at the right angle. You ooh and ahh appreciatively. “I’M NAPSTABOT IN THEIR FIRST (AND ONLY) VISUAL APPEARANCE!! THEIR OUTFIT WAS SO BEAUTIFUL, I JUST HAD TO WEAR IT MYSELF.”

“Oh, it looks so much prettier on you,” says a white-haired robot from behind you. Their voice is slightly synthesized, but familiar, and you don't need to hear Sans’s delighted gasp to know that this must be Napstabot themself. “If… Uh, not that you have to, but if you want me to, I could sign it?”

“THAT’S A GREAT IDEA, OH MY GOSH,” Sans breathes. “DON’T GO ANYWHERE, OKAY? I’M GONNA GO GET A PEN!!”

He pops out, and you smile. He's so himself.

“So,” you ask Napstabot, who jumps awkwardly at the sound of your voice, “what are you dressed up as?”

They shrug, smiling slightly. “Honestly, I have no idea… Undyne just shoved a bag at me and told me to put it on. Otherwise, she'd stop maintaining my broadcasting equipment...”

Threatening her friends into dressing up for Halloween? You don't know Undyne very well, but you wouldn't put it past her. “Hang on, can I see something real quick?”

“Oh! Um, sure?”

Sure enough, there’s a familiar design on either side of the headphones around their neck, matching the sticker they're wearing in the middle of their forehead. The average-looking button down and purple bow tie make a lot more sense now. “You're Cecil,” you tell them with confidence, elaborating when that gets you nothing more than a blank look. “He's a radio host from a podcast called Welcome to Night Vale.”

“Oh. That's… cool, I guess?”

“Heck yeah, it's cool!” Oh, huh. Looks like Undyne is here. “You watch it, punk?”

“You mean, do I listen to it?”

She puffs out her cheeks, fins flaring. “S-same difference!”

Fair enough. You give her a sheepish shrug. “It's really hard for me to keep up with stuff, especially podcasts. I kinda stopped listening after I graduated high school.”

“What?!” Aaaand there's Alphys, coming out from what you assume is a bedroom. She must’ve shown up earlier to help Sans decorate. “Whaddya mean, it's hard? All you gotta do is turn it on and listen!” She strides over to give Undyne a tight hug from behind, ignoring the taller monster’s surprised squeak. “Really motivated the guard when I played it during practice,” she tells you, with a grin that reveals just enough fang to make a shiver go down your spine. “Showing ‘em just how prepared you humans were for stuff like glow clouds and pterodactyls -”

“A-actually, it was, um. Pteranodons.”

“Right, yeah, pteranodons. Anyway, it really pumped ‘em up.” She plants a big smooch on the back of Undyne’s neck, making her flush and break out into nervous giggles. “My Dyney picks the best stuff.”

“Like your costumes? Or was that you, Alphys?” You have no idea what show the outfits are from, but it's obviously some sort of magical girl anime, with the amount of frills and bows they've got going on.

“Nah, it was all Dyney’s idea. She made everything from scratch! Amazing, right?”

“I-it wasn't that hard!” Undyne protests. “Not like I did the outfits from episode 133.”

“Oh man, yeah, that'd be tough. Bet you could do it, though!”

“Uh, well… If I started with a PVC framework…”

You politely extricate yourself and leave them to it.

The room’s beginning to really fill up at this point. Between Papyrus dozing on the couch (you almost feel bad about keeping him up so late last night, but, honestly, the memes were worth it), Alphys and Undyne necking at the table, Sans getting Napstabot to sign his dress (good, he made it back), a pink ghost you hadn't noticed hiding behind Napstabot, and Chara watching it all from the doorway, you're having a hard time imagining how anyone else could fit.

Then Asgore walks in.

He has to turn sideways and duck just to get through the doorframe, which – okay, it's really not polite to laugh at a king, but he just looks so apologetic. His horns scrape through slight gouges in the lintel, and once he's through, he just kind of. Pats the doorframe.

Oh, yeah, and he's wearing a Hawaiian shirt with socks and sandals.

How on earth are people afraid of this guy?

The room’s been quiet for a while now as everyone watched him struggle through the door, but he still clears his throat before speaking. “Howdy! Are we all ready to go?”

“everyone’s here,” reports Papyrus. “‘cept -”

“Of course.” He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “Welł, then. Let us be off.”

You were kind of expecting everyone to clump up as soon as they left the apartment, but everyone’s mingling pretty thoroughly. Alphys and Undyne start off next to each other, but then Sans challenges Alphys to a race and Napstabot takes her place next to Undyne. That leaves the pink ghost drifting along by themself, but Chara swoops in almost immediately and starts them on a topic that has them glowing. (They're literally brighter now. Like a little ghost nightlight. Cute!)

Then there's you and Papyrus, holding hands as you walk, and the king, who looks happy enough just watching everyone else. 

You feel kind of bad leaving him on his own like that, but just as you begin to contemplate drawing alongside him, Papyrus squeezes your hand. “pro tip,” he whispers, “asgore and his wife… they've got some issues. probably best to give ‘em a little room when they're in the same place.”

“Huh. ‘Kay.” Wait, his wife? “Is that who we’re going to pick up?”

“well, kinda. last i heard, we’re gonna see her at the end of the route. she lives kinda far out, so it makes more sense like that.”

Man, now you're kind of worried about making a good impression. His wife… You don't know much about her. Unlike Asgore, who’s been really visible in the media, she seems to have made a special effort to avoid being on camera. You guess it makes sense. If you were the ruler of an ancient civilization that just reintroduced itself to humanity, you probably wouldn’t deign to speak with them, either.

Chara’s met up with an armless lizard monster, and the two of them (and Sans) look like they’re having fun trick-or-treating. It seems like everyone else is, too. You're not sure if there are any more human kids out than last year, but there are definitely more monsters out, and even if Chara has to intervene every now and then to make sure people don't slam their doors on giant bugs (or to ring doorbells for tiny volcanoes, or to clear up communications between confused homeowners and what looks like an airplane in a bonnet), you haven't heard any screaming. That's... probably a good sign?

As the buildings thin, though, your limbs begin to droop, and you start picking up warning twinges from your stomach. You hate to pull the kid-in-the-backseat routine, but you didn't think to bring your pills (ugh, idiot, haven't you learned by now?) and you really don't want to get a stomachache while walking. “Hey, Pap? Uh, how much farther is it?”

He gives you a worried look and drops back from where he's been talking with Asgore. “still a ways. you doing okay, kitten?”

Uh. You pull your shoulders up, then let them drop. “Shrug?”

He still looks worried, but you can tell he's fighting a smile. That's right, normal people don't typically narrate their actions. Well, whatever. It's habit, and he obviously thinks it's cute.

“ARE THEY DOING OKAY?” Sans stage-whispers from your other side. Wh-? When the heck did he get there?

“think they're getting tired, bro.”

“Might be getting a stomachache soon,” you clarify quietly. “And… phwew. My lungs are starting to hurt.” And your knees, and your throat, but who's counting?

“I COULD TAKE YOU TO MILADY’S CASTLE,” Sans offers. “THAT WAY YOU WOULDN'T OVEREXERT YOURSELF!”

New, scary monster queen (does she make everyone call her “milady”, or is that just Sans? It'd sound creepy from anyone but him), or the comforts of home? No contest. “Actually, I think I'd rather head back. If you're willing, I mean.”

“AW, BUT I WANTED YOU TO MEET HER!” Oh noooo, the puppy-dog eyes have made an appearance. That's just not fair. “PLEEEEEEAAAAAASE? I COULD TAKE YOU STRAIGHT HOME AFTER, IF YOU NEED IT!”

You can't hold up against that. “Ugh. Fine.”

“just, uh. don't leave them alone with ‘er, bro,” Papyrus cautions.

“I KNOW, I KNOW! I’LL BE CAREFUL!”

That is not reassuring in the slightest.

“WE’LL MEET YOU GUYS THERE,” Sans calls cheerily. “OR NOT.” He slips an arm through yours, and the world goes dark.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Compared to his wife, Asgore is as intimidating as a puppy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Hannukah! And happy winter, too. Did you guys get any interesting presents? I'm still waiting for a bunch of mine to come in, but my zucchini got me some great stuff. The puns they included were truly touching.

One rainbow brick road trip later (your legs didn't hurt a bit while walking. Were you moving at all?), you find yourself swaying woozily in front of a tidy-looking Cape Cod. It's painted a sophisticated gray, with muted yellow trim just bright enough to make your new headache worse. 

Sans cheers quietly. “YOU’RE DOING MUCH BETTER THAN LAST TIME, HUMAN! SOON, YOU MIGHT BE ABLE TO TRAVEL WITH NO SICKNESS AT ALL!” He pauses, then quietly adds, “I CAN’T WAIT. I DON’T LIKE KNOWING THAT I’M HURTING YOU.”

Before you can come up with an answer to that, he's already knocked on the door.

“Who is there?” asks a tired voice from the other side.

“THE FANTASTIC!”

“The fantastic, who?”

Sans strikes a triumphant pose. “THE FANTASTIC SANS, OF COURSE!”

The voice laughs, but you can just tell they have their head in their hands. “Sans, you have used that joke every time you have come to knock on my door.”

“AND IT’S STILL JUST AS FANTASTIC AS THE FIRST TIME!” He relaxes against the door, smirking. “ALTHOUGH, I WOULD NOT WANT TO STARVE YOU FOR NEW MATERIAL. I SUPPOSE MY FRIEND HERE WILL JUST HAVE TO TELL YOU A FRESHER JOKE.”

You shoot him a panicked glance, but he just shrugs, obviously finding humor in your pain. Dammit, Sans, knock-knock jokes are your worst area! “Uh, knock knock?”

There's no reply. 

“USE THE KNOCKERS,” Sans whispers.

Thanks, buddy. 

You lift a knocker. It's heavy enough that it takes both hands, but after the first knock, it takes less effort. Much less. When you try to lift it again, it goes flying out of your hand. The heavy _thunk_ it makes when it comes down is disproportionately loud.

Behind you, Sans snickers.

“...Who is it,” asks the voice again. They seem just as excited to participate as you are.

Um. Uh, quick, what's a knock-knock joke you know- “Canoe?”

“Canoe, who?” There's definitely a hint of interest in the other’s voice, now. You're getting somewhere!

“Canoe let us in? It's kinda chilly out here.” Ha! Nailed it.

Sans bursts into giggles, and the person on the other side snorts a little. “Not bad,” they admit, “although I have heard better.”

Locks begin to click open, but the meager praise has left you unsatisfied. (Also you just remembered a better joke.) “Waitwaitwait, I got a better one.”

“Alright?...”

“AT LEAST COME INSIDE FIRST,” Sans says, from behind the door. “IT’S KIND OF CHILLY OUT THERE!”

You're so done.

The door swings open, revealing someone who looks a lot like Asgore – if he shaved his beard, filed his horns, and gave off a flintier air. Under her watchful gaze, you swallow and enter the house, making a show of wiping your feet first.

“N-nice place you got here,” you tell her, searching (hopefully?) inconspicuously for something more concrete to compliment her on. The floral arrangement on the table should do, right? “I like the flowers. They're very pretty.”

Her eyes narrow. “That is a glass sculpture I created to memorialize my son, whom your kind killed.”

_Welp._

“SO,” Sans breaks in, seemingly unaware of the growing tension, “ARE YOU GOING TO TELL YOUR OTHER JOKE NOW?”

“Yeah, sure!” Please, anything to give you the chance to remove your foot from your mouth. And you really want to see what they think of this. “You have to start, though.”

The lady merely raises an eyebrow, but Sans gasps. “REALLY?? OF COURSE!” He coughs theatricalły. “KNOCK KNOCK!”

Oh man, this is really happening. “Who’s there?”

He begins to speak, only to realize that he doesn't know what comes next. His puzzled face cracks you up, and your laughter cracks up the other two, whose laughter, in turn, only fuels yours. You'd think such a classy-looking lady would have a demure, tinkly laugh, but as she meets Sans’s eyes, her snorts deepen into braying baas. The contrast keeps extending the moment, until, finally, you're left holding onto the table and clutching your stomach. Ow. Okay, note: laughing fits on an already delicate stomach are not fun.

Once everyone's gotten ahold of themselves a little, you hold out a hand and introduce yourself. The raised eyebrow you get in return is enough to make you wish you had bowed instead, but she shakes without protest. “You may call me Queen Toriel.”

It's a clear warning: ignore her title at your peril. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

There's an awkward pause. Do you change the subject, or go further into the house, or just ask Sans if you can leave?

Something crunches behind you. “THESE COOKIES ARE REALLY GREAT, MILADY.”

“Sans!” The Queen’s gasp is somewhere between affronted and amused. “You know, it is polite to _ask_ before making off with the Queen’s baked goods.”

He shrugs, looking pleased with himself. “THEY WERE OBVIOUSLY SET OUT FOR THE PARTY. WHICH MEANS I WOULD HAVE EATEN ONE SOONER OR LATER, RIGHT? IT’S NOT LIKE I TOOK THEM ALL.”

“I cannot argue with that,” the Queen sighs. She turns to you. “You may have one as well, if you wish.”

Ooh, what kind are they? No, nope, wait, you definitely can't handle baked goods right now. “I'll pass. Thanks, though.”

“IT’S MONSTER FOOD,” Sans reminds you. 

Oh man, that's right! It shouldn't affect your stomach at all! Do you want to risk it?... Nn, maybe not. You're not that confident yet.

Then again, monster food doesn't spoil, apparently. And how rude would it be to turn down a queen’s home cooking? “...yeah, okay. Thank you.” If you don't eat it, you can always pawn it off on Papyrus and his massive sweet tooth.

Your stomach chooses this moment to experience a jolt of pain, and you wince. “Maybe make that for the road?” you call to Queen Toriel. “I think I should be heading back. If that's okay with Sans, anyway.”

“OF COURSE!” He finishes off the last few bites of his stolen goods. “IT’S A SHAME YOU WON’T BE HERE FOR THE PARTY, BUT YOUR HEALTH IS MORE IMPORTANT.”

The Queen hands you a cookie. It's hard to tell what kind it is, but it definitely doesn't have chocolate in it, which is a relief. “Will you be safe to make the trip home by yourself?” she asks Sans. “It is a rather long journey, especially at this time of night.”

It might just be the light, but you could swear his smile flickers. “ _WE_ WILL BE JUST FINE,” he asserts. “I ASSURE YOU, I AM MORE THAN CAPABLE OF PROTECTING BOTH THE HUMAN AND MYSELF. NOT THAT WE’LL NEED IT.” Looking just a tad smug, he loops an arm around your shoulders and gives the Queen a wink. “AFTER ALL, I KNOW A SHORTCUT.”

The journey this time feels different. Colder. The infra-black lights all around you seem to be moving faster, worsening your headache, and Sans’s left hand seems to catch a few times before he finally rips the void open and the world goes white.

When you can feel air against your skin again, you crack open your eyes and immediately wish you hadn't. Everything is spinning off in different directions and even slamming down your eyelids doesn't make it stop. You're aware, dimly, of a brief chill in the center of your chest ( _worry-pain-fear-relief-guilt-duty- ~~???~~_ ), then movement. Something heavy and warm falls over you, but the thing in the center of your chest feels lonely. ( _ ~~Do you wish for heat, or miss the cold?~~_ ) And then your mind goes dark.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened last night?...

You come awake gradually, consciousness returning bit by bit as your eyes blink muzzily open. Same ceiling as always. You’re in your own bed. What day is it? It feels like you’re forgetting something important… You should probably check your phone.

Too bad it's all the way across the room. Grumbling, you roll out of bed.

Okay. It’s Sunday -- you have a shift at the tea shop at four today, and it’s, what, tweeeeeelve o’clock? Huh. Plenty of time to show up and start working, but you don’t usually get up before two on the weekends. What time did you get to bed last night?

You’ve got unread texts.

 **papyrus:**  
heard you had to leave early. sorry you couldn’t meet everyone. _(There's a sad emoji.)_ maybe we can meet up some other time?

 **(unknown number):**  
hey nerd!! you totally skipped out on the party ヽ( `д´*)ノ  
i hope we didn’t scare you off or anything, lol  
but if you were trying to get out of hanging out you better THINK AGAIN!! (╬ Ò﹏Ó) cause we’re TOTALLY GONNA HAVE AN ANIME NIGHT LATER and you BETTER SHOW UP!!! ୧((#Φ益Φ#))୨  
uh. unless you don’t wanna ofc  
(this is undyne btw. paps gave me your number (⌒ω⌒)ﾉ )

 **(unknown number):**  
Greetings.  
Your decision to leave early was wise. It would be a shame if injury occurred, at an event intended for celebration.  
=)

 **THE FANTASTIC (AND VERY COOL) SKELETON NEXT DOOR!!:**  
IF YOU WOULD TEXT ME BACK WHEN YOU WAKE UP, I WOULD GREATLY APPRECIATE IT.  
NOT THAT YOU HAVE TO, OF COURSE!! BUT, IF YOU WOULD RATHER NOT, AT LEAST LET MY BROTHER KNOW YOU’RE AWAKE?  
I’M SORRY.

Uh. Okay.

You answer Papyrus first, since he’s the easiest. You reassure him that you’re fine, you deal with these kinds of things all the time, and after a bit of contemplation, add that you’d love to try meeting his friends again. There were lots of interesting-looking people at that party, and, much as you hate talking to new people, you trust your spaghetti to have good taste in friends. (Maybe they'll even show you more magic! You want to see _everything_.) Then you save Undyne as a new contact under “Shouty Fish (dolphin) (camera)” and deliberate over saving “Probably Chara?” before just going for it. You can always delete the contact later.

That leaves Sans’s message, which will require careful handling. Obviously Sans is upset and worried about something, but the last thing you remember from last night is… uh… knock-knock jokes, with-- Queen Toriel! And then she said something and Sans got upset? Maybe? All you can remember past that is a headache and a lot of blinding lights.

Hypothesis: the teleport home knocked you out somehow, and Sans has been blaming himself since then. That’s somewhere to start, at least.

**You:**  
This is me, awake. Lol

The ellipsis pops up on Sans’s side before you can finish your next line, but it disappears just as quickly and doesn’t come back. Is he feeling shy all of a sudden? 

**You:**  
I’m fine, btw. If you were wondering  
Got a bit of a headache, but that’s about par for the course.  
Hbu? Feeling okay?

Huh. Usually Sans replies to your texts right after you send them, but this time, he’s not answering at all.

Whether you ignore it or press the issue, you know you’re going to feel guilty about it. But TV Tropes says OOC is serious business, and, besides, it’s not like asking Pap if his brother is okay is the same as going behind Sans’s back or something. You’ll just shoot your spaghetti a quick text before you ~~mess around for three hours~~ head out to work.

Several “independently published online works” later, you take yourself downtown, bouncing to the beat of your “Incipience” playlist. It's a balmy November afternoon, the air just crisp enough to make you feel alive; your coat flares out _just so_ as you walk, and the earring you picked out for today really complements your star-patterned button-down and v-neck sweater. Your smile probably doesn't make it to your face, but it's an _Electric Daisy Violin_ kind of day.

At least, until Paige sees you through the glass.

With an internal sigh, you slip your headphones off and attempt to convince yourself she’s anyone you'd want to see. That's supposed to make people like you more, according to a tip you read online. “Hey, boss! Didn't expect to see you here,” you chirp. Your smile might look fake, but you don't care as much as you probably should. “What's the occasion?”

There's a pause where she might have rolled her eyes, but she went back to texting as soon as you opened your mouth, so you can't tell for sure. “You're late.”

Wow, that, uh, completely ignored your question. “Actually, my shift starts at 4,” you remind her. 

“It's 4:03.”

You blink slowly at her and count to five. Deep breaths. “Sorry. I'll try to get here earlier next time.”

She huffs, but moves on. “Apparently, the monster king or whatever bought some stuff here a while ago and liked it. He and that kid posted about it, and now the whole mountain keeps trying to buy stuff with _monster_ money, like the stuff’s worth anything.”

Well, that kind of explains why she’s here. One of the earlier shifts probably panicked and called her in. (Wait, _Chara_ posted about your tea? You hope they didn't say anything too terrible. You wouldn't put it past them to give a bad review just because they don't like you.) “I bet it's been pretty busy, then,” you remark, grabbing your apron. “Should I be doing anything different than normal?”

“Just make sure the rockgazers know they need _real_ money to buy anything here.”

Does she know that's a slur, or does she just not care? Except then it gets worse:

“I don't need them trying to pay with leaves or dirt or whatever and scaring away all our _actual_ customers.”

Luckily, she's walking away before she's finished that sentence, because your wince this time is too big to hide. For Pete’s sakes, Paige, monsters and the fae are two separate magical creatures! Monsters have way too much integrity to pay with glamours, no matter what the anti-mags claim. And anyway, anyone who'd be “scared off” by a monster buying tea is someone whose money you don't want.

Oh, hey, your phone just buzzed. After making sure Paige isn't looking your way, you pull it out and take a look.

 **papyrus:**  
idk, he seems fine to me  
what’s up?

  
**You:**  
Probably nothing, lol

**papyrus:**  
no, seriously. what’s up

  
**You:**  
Idk. He's just been kinda off  
Like  
Actually nvmd I'll just send you the screenshot  
[Sent Picture 110140587]

**papyrus:**  
huh. _(There's a straight-faced emoji.)_

**You:**  
Yeah. 

**papyrus:**  
how do you screenshot?

  
**You:**  
I answered a few hours ago but he hasn't replied?  
Oh! Uh, power + home buttons on iPhone  
Dunno about Android, sorry ^^’

**papyrus:**  
you're fine babe  
damn fine, actually _(There's a winking emoji.)_

  
**You:**  
Badum-tss.

**papyrus:**  
did i tell you i can do that?

  
**You:**  
What, rimshot?

**papyrus:**  
yeah  
one time i followed sans around for a day with a drum set  
provided every pun w musical accompaniment _(There's a winking emoji.)_

  
**You:**  
Omg

**papyrus:**  
then i started moving it up a bit. starting before the words were outta his mouth _(There's a laughing emoji.)_  
he was all “papyruuuuus!!! stop preempting my puns with incidental music!!”

  
**You:**  
O mg.  
You guys are adorable.

You'd love to keep texting, but you're not positive that the burning glare on the back of your neck is just your imagination. Better to put the phone away, for now.

You serve a few customers, wipe Emily’s coffee stain clean from the counter, and order more herbals from the supplier with no incident. And then your next customer arrives and everything rapidly falls to pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who finally learned how to change fonts without making everything into its own paragraph? ;D


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new customer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, uh... this isn't gonna be done by the anniversary.
> 
> On the bright side, that means there's still a good amount of story to come!

The bell on the door is loud in the stillness of the shop, but it's not what alerts you to the customer’s presence. Instead, you see a hazy silhouette pressing itself, over and over, against the frosted glass.

For a moment, you panic. Then you remember the monsters you saw trick-or-treating, the fairy-like ones with the tiny, transparent wings, and leap up to get the door, mulling absently over ways you could make the shop more accessible for smaller folk. Maybe you could prop the door open during business hours? Well, that'd only work during the warmer months…

The monster seems reluctant to pass in front of you, so you take a step back and let it in.

There's a susurrus, almost, a silence tinged with magic, as this monster flutters slowly from shelf to shelf. If this were a forest clearing, it’d be dappled through with sunlight. A deer reaches for some fair maid’s hand. Gently, quietly, you close the door.

The monster’s come to a stop in front of one of the lavender blends. It seems unsure of what to do next.

You don't want to risk breaking this spell, but the words keep tumbling around in your head until you let them out. “Would you like that one?”

It flinches at the sound of your voice, but you don't move. _Shh, babe, it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you._ Slowly, its trembling dies down, and it gives you a tiny nod.

“Okay.”

Carefully, oh so carefully, you reach out to take the box. Your muscles wobble with the effort it takes to move so smoothly (and, god, how pathetic is that), but you soon have it in your hands without any casualties. “Okay,” you breathe. “Ready to check out?”

It nods, this time a little more firmly. And then, in a voice like a blessing, like the quaver of a leaf, it whispers, “Whimsun.”

And then Paige rolls her eyes and says that, if they're _going_ to live on the Surface, they need to speak English, and the moment shatters.

The Whimsun (because that's what it _is_ , it told you _its name_ ) flinches and makes an immediate beeline for the door. The resulting impact leaves it reeling, and it manages to catch itself in midair but the tremors wracking its tiny body are only growing and you can tell it feels trapped by the way its eyes search helplessly for an exit. You want to rush over there and cradle it in your arms, but it probably needs a little space – you settle for moving a little closer, but giving it plenty of room to breathe.

“It's okay,” you whisper-hum. “It's okay. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

Paige snorts behind you. You try to glare at her, but with her head still buried in her phone, she completely misses it. 

“Ignore her,” you tell the Whimsun. “She doesn't know what she's talking about.”

It's still trembling, but there's another little shiver that might be a giggle.

“Okay,” you say, relieved. “Now, how’s about we get you checked out, huh? We can just get that done, and then you can go home.”

It nods shakily and floats a little higher, allowing you to walk it up to the counter.

You ring up the box. From there, it should be simple – except when you ask how it’ll be paying, a bunch of Gold materializes on the counter.

_Shit._

Okay. You've got options, but you've gotta move fast. Every extra second is another opportunity to be caught, but it takes three tries to unlock your phone and far too long to find the messaging app and your leg is thumping quietly against your stool by the time you manage to get the text out.

  
**You:**  
Hey Pap what's the gold/dollar exchange rate

No response.

  
**You:**  
It's kind of important

_Come on, come on…_

“Why is your phone out when you're literally in the middle of ringing someone up?”

Damn. At least she didn't notice the–

“And I _thought_ I said no cave money in my shop!”

_Damn._

Behind you, the door swings open, the cheery tinkling of bells odd in the oppressive atmosphere. A man stands in the doorway. “Hey, do you–” He cuts off with an oof as the Whimsun barrels past him, crying, and the door closes, leaving both man and monster outside.

There's a second of silence, but neither returns.

“ _Now_ look what you've done,” Paige fumes. “We didn't have to lose that customer. If you’d just told that monster we don't want its kind here, you could've actually made a sale, instead of wasting everyone’s time.”

The words “wasting time” seem to echo. You wince, gripping your phone with white knuckles, and a “sorry” falls from your lips before you can remember that you're not sorry at all. 

You feel guilty for apologizing. Paige continues her tirade, unaware that you said anything at all. “And _another_ thing: how many times have I had to tell you that there are no phones on duty?!”

Okay, _that’s_ bullshit. “You're **always** on _your_ phone,” you retort. “At least _I_ was trying to _help the customer_.”

“I’m sorry, _who_ is the supervisor here?” Her ugly pink-beige nails tap on the counter. “Get out.”

“What?”

“You're fired. Get out.”

Oh.

It takes you a second to process that. On the one hand, you’ll never have to come back here again. On the other, this is the first time you've been fired from a job… and you're down a steady source of income. You'll have to pick up extra shifts at the Gem or something…

She's still staring at you.

Mechanically, you button your coat and slip your phone into the left pocket. 

The lavender tea sits forlornly on the counter. You have money. Without further thought, you slide a $20 across the table and pick up the box and Gold. 

Paige says nothing. But her glare smolders on your back as you walk out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon: people who _speak_ too **emphatically** are contagious. The condition really only affects skeletons, but it's not rare to come down with a _case of italics_.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a pun there somewhere between "labyrinthine" and "piscine", but it's just not working for me. Think I'll have to settle for the rhyme.

“I just got fired. #funny how quickly these things happen., adventures in employment, talkin’ things”

You've been staring blankly at the post for three minutes now. Is it too personal? You try to keep your tumblr relatively free of vent-posts, but you've been worrying that makes it seem distant and cold. Maybe that’s why your decade-old blog only has three hundred followers.

Not that follower count matters, of course.

Ugh. Know what? You’ve been staring at this stupid post for long enough. If you want to post it that badly, you might as well go ahead.

There. The post is officially on your blog, where it will proceed to get absolutely no attention but still make you feel guilty about, 1., posting it, and 2., deliberating this long over whether or not to write a sentence on your own blog. You feel so proud of yourself.

Now that you've finished staring at your phone for no reason, you should probably get off this bench and head back to the apartment, but… that would require movement. Maybe you'll just sit here a while longer instead. Take a nap, watch the crowds flow by, people-watch a little…

...Hey, is that Undyne?

Yep. Sure is. And she's heading right for you, razor-smile, flapping lab coat and all.

“Heyyy, punk,” she grins, plopping down just a _little_ too close for comfort. “A little birdie told me you got the boot.”

Wh– huh? How did she find out so fast? “I mean, I guess you could say that,” you hedge, torn between talking this out and ignoring the near-stranger who just ambushed you. Then her words catch up to you. With a wry smile, you waggle a foot at her. “Two of them, actually. But they're not for sale.”

She rolls her eyes, but she's still grinning. The teeth make that a dangerous compliment. “Ugh, no wonder he likes you. You know what I mean! You got the pink slip! You're caput! Finished!”

You kind of want to see how many more synonyms she can find, but also she's kind of loud and you don't need the whole park knowing that you’ve got one fewer place of employment. “Fired.”

“Yeah, that's the one!”

She looks at you like there's something you're supposed to say here. “Okay? I mean... Yeah. I got fired. What does that have to do with anything?”

There's a pause. You've obviously disappointed her somehow, but she steels herself and tries again. “Look, punk. We don't know each other too well yet, but if you're g-gonna be hanging around, we should g-g- _get_ to know each other.” She crosses her arms and looks away. “I mean. If you want to.”

That's a good question, actually. Do you want to be friends with Undyne? You don't do so well around people with volatile emotions, and Undyne definitely seems like one of those. On the other hand, she? actually wants to talk to you?? and, yeah, this was never going to have a different answer. “What kind of ‘getting to know each other’ were you thinking?”

Her eyes gleam hopefully when they look back at you. Or maybe that's just the sun on her glasses. “Well, in episode 67 of _My Life as a Teenage Idol!_ , when Rise doesn't get the Sunshine contract, she and her friends have a girls’ night in. I thought… we could do that?”

Does she really care about making friends? Or is she just using you to recreate an anime scene?

You guess it doesn't matter. It's social interaction either way, right? And, hey, maybe if you indulge her real-life roleplaying, you can learn a little more about monsters. You're still not without some misgivings, but you're totally honest when you say, “I’m in.”

Considering how close Asgore apparently lives, you're expecting Undyne to take you back towards your apartment complex, so you're totally blindsided when she begins to pull you down to the University. Then you're thinking, well, maybe she has a place down here, but then she's dragging you on campus, holding up a keycard at every door and navigating the hallways like she's following a magic thread. (For all you know, maybe she is.) It feels kind of like your head went to screensaver mode, with little question marks spinning around and bumping into walls, but you keep your mouth shut, until she lets you into an unmarked bedroom and you remember, oh yeah, sometimes people can get apartments on campus if they work for the college.

“Wait, you live on campus?” Sure, you sound kind of dumb for asking that in the doorway of a college apartment, but conversation sounds more natural if you avoid leading with follow-up questions. Weird looks: avoided. Plus, people love to talk about themselves, so…

“Yeah! They said they'd pay for room and board if I worked with them on magi-tech. Good deal, right?”

And there you go. “I dunno,” you reply, finding and perching on the nearest chair. “Lots of people probably want to study magic. You probably could've gotten a better deal without having to deal with college kids.”

“Yeah, but colleges have great security,” she points out. “And they don't mind if I improve it, as long as I tell ‘em what I'm doing. I'd rather deal with college kids than monsterphobic landlords who’re just gonna shrug if I report a break-in.”

You wince. “Fair enough.”

There's a short pause, broken only by the – oh god, are those Crocs? ...By the slightly rubber tap of her Crocs on the linoleum. Okay. “P-plus… Uh, m-magi-tech” – she winces at the stutter and tries again – “magi-tech isn't actually that hard. We've had a lot of practice m-making magic and technology work together.” When you blink at her, she clarifies. “To power the Underground, I mean. Since you guys d-didn't throw out much stuff that worked, we kinda had to make it work ourselves.”

Whoa, okay, hold up. “Wait. When you say magi-tech, do you mean, like, technology with magic in it, or magic you can use through tech?”

“Both.” She grins proudly. This time, when she talks, her arms sweep out in big gestures instead of fidgeting in her lap. “Like, the CORE – I mean, the geothermal p-plant that p-powered the Underground? We used magic to make it more efficient, among other things. So that's tech using magic. But then we've got… uh, the de-duh-dimensional boxes are probably the b-best example?”

“The whats?”

Instead of answering, she pulls out her phone and begins to tap buttons. Is she texting in the middle of your conversation? ...No, now she's holding out a hand, and– holy baloney that is an anime figurine.

You peer at her hand from all angles you can manage without getting up, but, nope, you aren't seeing any mirrors or fishing wire. You kind of really want to ask how she did it, but either you're not going to understand the answer, or it’s just going to be “magic.”

You say that out loud, just ‘cause you can. Jazz hands? Obviously. “Mmmmmagic.”

She laughs, a short little bark of glee at your fascination with something completely mundane. That's fair, though; you'd probably crack up a little yourself if you got to show an amazed alien how a microwave works. “It's actually a fairly simple process,” she says. “If you want, I… m-might be able to add it to your–”

“Sold,” you answer immediately, and shove your phone at her. “Work your sci-fi magic on it, sister.” Oh god that was so awkward why did you say that.

But she's trying to fight back laughter, so it's all good. (Still never saying that again, though.) “Keep it. I've got a p-pretty big backlog, and I don't want you to be out a phone for a week. I'll just make you a new one.”

A new _phone_? This is starting to sound too good to be true, especially since you kinda do need to update. “Are we talking free, or is there a cost here?” you ask warily.

The look on her face can only be described as devious. “I'll do it… _if_ you tell me how things with Pap are going.”

“That's it?”

“ _And_ how you got fired.”

“I mean, okay? Still seems a little low for a _brand new magic phone_ , but if that's all you want…” 

“Yeah. Thu-that's it.” She twirls an errant lock of hair around a finger. “I just… I like staying busy, y’know?”

“Yeah.” You get that. 

You're still gonna pay her, though.


End file.
